
Ji66 



^H ■ I 



<!j-'^i 






m-s 



I 






I 



nf 









^H 



■ 



■ 






■ 






■■ha 










PATRIOTISM 

IN 

POETRY AND PROSE: 

BEING 

m 

FROM LECTURES AND PATRIOTIC READINGS 

BY 

JAMES E. MUK 

ALSO, 

POEMS 



THOMAS BUCHANAN READ, GEOR 

FRANCIS DE HAES JANVIER; 

AND OTHER AMERICA.^ AUTHORS, 



COMMEMORATIVE OF THE 

GALLANT DEEDS OF OUR NOBLE DEFENDERS ON LAND AND SEA. 




PHILADELPHIA: 

J. B. LIPPINCOTT & CO. 

. 18 6 6. 



By 






Entefred, according to Act of Congress, in the year 1864, by 

J. B. LIPPINCOTT & CO. 

in the Clerk's Office of the District Court of the United States for th. 

Eastern District of Pennsylvania. 




To Messrs. James L. Claghorn, 
Ferdinand J. Dreer, 

and Joseph Harrison, Jr. 

Gentlemen: — Accept my thanks for the generous sympathy 
in my efforts to serve this cause which has induced you to 
undertake the publication of this little book, the proceeds of 
which are to be applied to the wants of our sick and wounded 
soldiers. 

Your devotion to our country's cause, your untiring efforts 
in and your generous contributions to the glorious work of 
sustaining and comforting such of our noble defenders as 
stand in need of the Good Samaritan's office,— these good deeds 
expressed in your individual services are but the types of the 
noble virtues and generous sympathies of the loyal citizens of 
Philadelphia, which find an echo in the heart of every Union- 
loving member of the Great Republic. 

I regret that my continued illness compels me to abandon 
my original intentions in the publication of the book. And 
yet I feel assured that it will meet at your hands, and from 
the favor of the public, attention and appreciation which its 
merits could not venture to call forth, — that is, at least, as far as 
my humble contributions to its pages are concerned. 

May God bless the efforts of our loyal countrymen to alle- 
viate the suffering and sorrows of those who are fighting for 



our Government !. and may His merciful providence restore 
peace to the land, and the land to the supremacy of law and 
order, under that sacred emblem of Liberty and Union, the 
dear "Old Flag"! 

Truly, your friend and obedient servant, 

James E. Murdoch. 
Philadelphia, May 19, 1864. 



TO THE 



MOTHERS AND WIYES, SISTERS AND DAUGHTERS, 



WHO HAVE STOOD AS A LIVING WALL 

BETAVEEN 

THE NATIONAL UNITY AND HONOR, AND THE ASSAULTS OF 
ARMED REBELS, 

CHTS VOLUME 18 QEQIG£<FEQ 

BY 

JAMES E. MURDOCH, 

WHO, IN EXPRESSING HIS VENERATION FOR THE PATRIOTIC SERVICES 
CONFERRED ON THEIR COUNTRY, IN ITS HOUR OF 
TRIAL AND SUFFERING, BY THE LOYAL 
WOMEN OF AMERICA, CALLS TO 
HIS AID THE FOLLOW- 
ING BEAUTIFUL 
LINES. 



%\t irate at |oi». 



(Extract from "The Wagoner op the Alleghanies.") 
by t. buchanan read. 

The maid who binds her warrior's sash, 

With smile that well her pain dissembles, 
The while beneath her drooping lash 

One starry tear-drop hangs and trembles, 
Though Heaven alone records the tear, 

And fame shall never know the story, 
Her heart has shed a drop as dear 

As e'er bedew'd the field of glory. m 

The wife who girds her husband's sword, 

Mid little ones who weep or wonder, 
And bravely speaks the cheering word, 

What though her heart be rent asunder, 
Doom'd nightly in her dreams to hear 

The bolts of death around him rattle, 
Hath shed as sacred blood as e'er 

Was pour'd upon a field of battle ! 

The mother who conceals her grief, 

While to her breast her son she presses, 
Then breathes a few brave words and brief, 

Kissing the patriot brow she blesses, 
With no one but her secret God 

To know the pain that weighs upon her, 
Sheds holy blood as e'er the sod 

Received on Freedom's field of honor I 




PRE 



It would be unjust to introduce this volume to the reader 
without some mention of the public services of the patriotic 
gentleman to whom it owes its origin. With Mr. Murdoch's 
"Readings" we are all familiar. In the lecture-room, the 
hospital, the camp, and under the falling shells of the enemy, 
he has raised his eloquent voice, since the beginning of our 
great national contest, with an effect that will not soon be for- 
gotten by his numerous auditors. He has stimulated the 
patriotism of our citizens, he has comforted the sufferings of 
our wounded, and he has inflamed the courage of our soldiers. 
The pecuniary returns from his Readings have been applied 
in all cases, and without any deduction for his personal ex- 
penses or professional labor, to aid in alleviating the condition 
of the sick and the wounded. In this way he has collected 
and handed over to the proper disbursing agents not only 
thousands, but tens of thousands, of dollars, — no trifling con- 
tribution to be earned and distributed through the exertions 
of one man, whose health was not always robust, and who was 
frequently obliged to pause in his noble work and recruit his 
strength, wasted by the very energy of his charitable labors. 

Without entering into details, we shall give a brief narra- 
tive of Mr. Murdoch's services to the cause of his country. He 
is disposed to consider his efforts as humble and of small 
public importance, when viewed in the light of the tremendous 



PREFACE. 

events which are daily passing before our eyes, and to wish 
that Heaven had gifted him with higher attributes and a wider 
field of action, in order that his achievements might be com- 
mensurate with his desires. We shall not quarrel with Mr. 
Murdoch's estimate of himself. Modesty is too rare and too 
beautiful a quality to be drawn from its seclusion by open 
criticism. Whatever may have been the value of his labors, 
they have been earnest, single in their purpose, entirely un- 
selfish, and perfectly successful within the limits of their 
sphere. Mr. Murdoch does not claim to be either a poet or an 
orator: yet he has set before us the most beautiful thoughts of 
the former with a passion, an energy, and a skilful modulation 
of voice that have seldom been rivalled by the latter. We are 
perfectly content with the scope of his work. He fills a place 
that would have been vacant without him ; and although, since 
he began his peculiar career, he has raised around him a 
crowd of imitators, none has equalled him in merit or ap- 
proached him in usefulness. 

During the popular excitement which followed the firing 
upon the flag of Sumter, Mr. Murdoch was on his way from 
Milwaukie to fulfil a professional engagement at Pittsburg. 
He could not be insensible to the spirit which was rising 
around him, and which increased in enthusiasm at every step 
of his journey. The President's first call for volunteers was 
arriving at every telegraphic station, and the spark which bore 
the message seemed to have kindled a flame in every heart. 
On arriving at Pittsburg, Mr. Murdoch was met by the intelli- 
gence that his younger son, Thomas Forrest Murdoch, had 
enlisted in a Zouave regiment and was then on his way to 
Washington. Although on that night Mr. Murdoch was adver- 
tised to play " Hamlet,"- he threw up his engagement and 



PREFACE. 9 

started in search of his brave son. At Lancaster he found his 
boy in the ranks, patiently awaiting the order to move forward, 
and resolved to persevere in the course which he had chosen. 
"What could the father do but confirm his son's choice and 
bestow a blessing upon him ? Touched with the natural action, 
the comrades of his son, with a true American impulse, called 
upon Mr. Murdoch for a speech. The speech was made to 
them ; and in that speech the orator not only animated the 
regiment, but he also convinced himself as to the line of duty 
which he was called upon to pursue. He at once abandoned 
his theatrical career, resolving to devote all his time, talent, 
and energy to the cause of his country, and not to reappear 
upon the stage until that cause should be triumphant. Mr. 
Murdoch made this great pecuniary sacrifice from no distaste 
to his profession. Like all other professions, he regards it 
as an honorable one when honorably followed ; and at the close 
of the war it is his intention to return to a vocation in which 
he, at least, has always enjoyed the respect and admiration of 
his countrymen. He has adhered to the resolution thus formed 
most manfully, although tempted on all sides by the managers 
of theatres with offers of engagements that would have been 
far more remunerative to him than any which he had previously 
accepted, and although his failing health has again and again 
warned him to abandon his arduous, patriotic duties, and, if 
activity has become a necessity of his nature, to return to the 
lighter labors of his former profession. 

The sacrifice of his professional career has not been the only 
one which Mr. Murdoch has made for his country. The noble 
boy with whom he parted in Lancaster is now lying beneath 
the bloody sod of the battle-field of Chickamauga. Captain 
Thomas Forrest Murdoch received his first commission as lieu- 



10 PREFACE. 

tenant fqr his gallantry in the campaign which closed with 
the terrible battle of Shiloh. At the battle of Stone River he 
served upon the staff of General Van Cleve ; his horse was 
shot under him ; and for his brave conduct upon that occasion 
he was promoted to a captaincy. He fell at the head of Gene- 
ral Van Cleve's line of battle in the first day's fight at Chicka- 
mauga, shouting to the men, "Come on, boys! try them once 
more V Memorable words, the spirit of which his country 
adopted in its subsequent struggles. "Try them again!" has 
been, and shall continue to be, our motto, until the dying war- 
cry of the gallant young soldier shall be drowned in the over- 
whelming shout of triumph. 

Mr. Murdoch's elder son, Captain James E. Murdoch, found 
it impossible to remain quietly at home, with the news of battle 
ringing in his ears and seeming to reproach him for his back- 
wardness. He therefore shouldered his musket and followed 
his brother to the field. He was promoted for good conduct 
soon after he joined the army, in which he served on the 
staff of Brigadier-General Sill until that distinguished man 
fell gloriously at the battle of Stone River. Captain James E. 
Murdoch led his company through the long and bloody actions 
at Chickamauga, although his physical condition scarcely 
warranted his bravery ; and at the close of the second day's 
fight but a handful of men answered to the roll-call of the 
company, which originally represented one hundred of the 
brave farmer-boys of his father's immediate neighborhood, 
Warren county, Ohio. Captain James E. Murdoch was after- 
wards obliged to quit active military duty, on account of his 
physical disability. He retired, with an honorable record and 
the highest recommendations from his corps and division com- 
manders, and obtained a position in the invalid service. He 



PREFACE. 11 

has since, however, returned to civil life, to cheer, as we hope, 
his father's declining years. 

Mr. Murdoch himself has also seen some active service in 
the ranks of his country. At the call of the Governor of Ohio, 
he sallied out with the volunteers when the rebels threatened 
Cincinnati. He acted as aid to Commodore Duble in the gun- 
boat flotilla on the Ohio River, and he afterwards served on the 
staff of that gallant soldier and loyal Kentuckian, Major-Gene- 
ral Lovel Rousseau. For these services, as for his more peaceful 
efforts, Mr. Murdoch never received, nor desired to receive, a 
cent of pay from the Government. 

When Mr. Murdoch came to the East, during the present 
spring, it was with the intention of continuing his course of 
"Readings," of visiting the Army of the Potomac, and inspiring 
the soldiers with the enthusiasm which his recitations have 
always created in the Army of the Cumberland, and of col- 
lecting the money and publishing the volume which he intended 
to devote to the "Relic Fund." He has failed to carry out a 
part of his plan, through the incapacity produced by many 
and, at times, serious attacks of illness. This volume is the re- 
sult of so much labor as he has been able to perform; and the 
editor asks for it the indulgence which is usually accorded to a 
work produced under unfavorable circumstances and amidst 
the distractions of private suffering and unparalleled public 
excitement. 

Various sums of money have been received as subscriptions 
to the Ladies' Societies in aid of soldiers' families, sick and 
wounded soldiers, &c. A copy of the book is to be presented 
to each subscriber. When that demand is satisfied, the book 
will be offered to the public, and the proceeds, after defraying 
expenses, will be handed to such societies as the committee 



12 PREFACE. 

may determine, for the relief of the soldiers. Of course, no 
subscriptions can be received after this date. The original 
intention of printing the subscribers' names has been aban- 
doned, on account of the increased size of the book, as it now 
contains nearly one-third more of printed matter than was at 
first intended. The entire profits from the publication will be 
given to the charities above mentioned. 




CONTENTS. 



PAGE 

Introduction to "Patriotic Readings" 15 

Poetry a Substitute for Speech-Making 19 

The American Flag 21 

Mr. Lincoln at Home in Springfield, and Mr. Lincoln at the White 

House in, Washington 23 

Lincoln at Springfield,' 1861 29 

Mr. Lincoln's Letter to the Kentucky Delegates, April 4, 1864 *31 

The President's Letter to Mr. Murdoch, and Poem 34 

The Prescience of the Poet 36 

Extract from "The New Pastoral" 37 

The Relics 41 

Poem by William Cullen Bryant 44 

The Memento to Secretary Chase 46 

Items concerning the Treaty Elm 49 

Incidents in the History of the Old War-Ship the Alliance 52 

Old Ironsides 54 

The Shreds of the Flag-Halliards of the Cumberland 55 

Three Eras \ 59 

Mr. Boker as a Dramatic Poet 67 

The Ballad of New Orleans 69 

Coming Events Cast their Shadows Before 77 

The Union. — A National Song 79 

The Power of Music and Verse as Incitements to Valor 80 

Our Defenders 82 

Poetry and Painting as Kindred Arts 83 

Victory does not always reward Valor 87 

2 13 



14 CONTENTS. 

PAGE 

The Battle of Lookout Mountain 88 

"The Peculiar Institution," and Stonewall Jackson's Hatred of 

the Old Flag 93 

Barbara Frietchie 98 

An Incident of the War 100 

The Sleeping Sentinel 103 

On Board the Cumberland 108 

An Invocation to Loyalty 114 

The Oath . 116 

Gettysburg 118 

The Cemetery and the Battle-Field 121 

The School-Boy's Lesson in Poetry remembered by the Soldier on 

the Field of Battle 125 

Marco Bozzaris < 127 

Heroes Die, but Heroism is Eternal 130 

Count Candespina's Standard 131 

Don't Give up the Ship : 135 

The Launching of the Ship 138 

The Dying Soldier 142 

The Rising, 1776 144 

Before Vicksburg 148 

Our Heroes 150 

Wounded 152 

An Old Friend in a New Dress 154 

Lines on the New American Frigate Alliance 156 

Charleston Harbor in 1776 and 1861 158 

Scott and the Veteran 160 

Paul Jones, and the Navy of the Revolution 162 

The Bonhomme Richard 168 

Paul Jones 169 

Our Heroes 171 



/ 




PATBJO 



POETRY AND PROSE. 



Intrflbttttion to fatriotit $eabings : tolitewir in % 
Senate-C|amber uf the Initei States. 

(Extract from Mr. Murdoch's Lectures.) 

It is my ambition to illustrate and defend the great cause 
in which our country is now engaged, by presenting such 
specimens of patriotic poetry, written by my own country- 
men, and by others, as may be influential in exciting 
national pride, and in keeping alive that feeling, without 
which no nation has ever been able to defend and preserve 
itself. 

The great and good cause for which the Administration 
is battling against a host of traitors and factious enemies 
at home and a legion of interferers abroad, aroused my 
deepest sympathies from the very onset, and induced me 
to give up the profession of the actor for the time-being, 
and to devote myself to such efforts as would contribute 
relief to the sick and wounded soldiers of the Republic. I 
feel assured that the offices of the good physician and 
surgeon (jan be wonderfully aided and advanced by pleasant 
and cheerful thoughts in the patient, which are often ex- 

15 



16 INTRODUCTION TO 

cited and maintained by the tone of the nurse or the 
sprightly comrade; and hence the home-like ditty, or the 
time-loved hymn, when sung. by lips of hopeful sympathy, 
expands and secures the good effects produced by the probe 
and the knife, the potion and the ointment. Hence I 
have sought occasion to raise my voice, to give utterance 
to patriotic poetry and prose, together with scriptural reci- 
tations, in our. hospitals and "Homes," wherever the judg- 
ment of the surgeons attending sanctioned the perform- 
ance. 

I know, too, what good results have been attained to the 
toiling and patient soldier, when he joins in, or listens to, 
the strains of song or hymn chanted during the long and 
weary march. . How often have I observed, in the bivouac 
or at the camp-fire, after reading a poem of which the sol- 
dier's suffering and the honor of his flag have been the 
theme, the hitherto separate groups of officers and men 
mingle together, while the silent tear, and the glow of 
patriotic pride, spoke in eloquent terms of the presence 
of that generous sympathy which binds man to man, and 
is, indeed, the corner-stone of all nationality. 

To cherish this spirit, and assist in cementing that bond 
of unity which should bind us together in this crisis by 
indissoluble bands, I have attempted, through the medium 
of my elocutionary and dramatic experience, to interpret, 
and to intensify, the glorious lyrics, poems, and ballads 
that have been written by our loyal bards to commemorate 
the noble deeds of our soldiers and sailors, and dedicated 
by them to that soul of heroism and self-sacrifice now so 
beautifully and potently expressed in the spirit and acts of 
the noblest army ever marshalled to save a suffering and 
imperilled people. 

I have tendered my services to the cause of the Republic 



INTRODUCTION TO "PATRIOTIC READINGS." 17 

in a spirit arising from a conviction that the citizen is bound 
to make the music of the nation's war or fight to it. I 
prefer to help as the trumpeter was accused of doing in 
JEsop's fable. I am constrained to say that I have been 
in a measure impelled to my present course from a sense 
of gratitude in return for the 'ample remuneration of the 
labors of a long professional career so generously tendered 
by my fellow-citizens. I have striven by my professional 
donations to prove to my countrymen that, though from 
physical inability I was unable to continue in the field 
during a regular campaign, I am still willing to labor that 
I may help to revive and sustain the proper tone and unity 
of the free and loyal States in support of our Governments 

It is merely justice to myself to affirm, here, that what- 
ever I may say or do in defence of the nation and the 
Administration arises from a deep-seated conviction that 
my duties as an American citizen are inseparably con- 
nected with my duties to my Maker, and that I am bound 
to defend the former in order to obey the commands of the 
latter, — my country first, my friends afterwards. I oppose 
the enemies of my country and Government as I would 
hurl back the intruder on my hearth-stone. 

The man who stands at my door with the torch and the 
axe, I am impelled by the promptings of self-preservation 
to strike down. I acknowledge no tie of kindred and 
blood under such circumstances; I strike in defence of 
that which God has given me to protect, — of all that is 
dear to man on earth. In the language of the law, my 
house is my castle : the Government is the rock on wtrich 
my house is built ; the hand that undermines the one 
destroys the other. The Government is the law; the law 
is *he creation of the people, in their sovereign capacity as 
a tribe or a nation. Therefore, that body to. which the people 

2* 



18 INTRODUCTION TO " PATRIOTIC READINGS.' 7 

have delegated the administration of the law becomes for 
the time-being part and parcel of the Government. It 
cannot be assailed without attacking the Constitution. 
The man who, under the conceded right to criticize the 
acts of the Government, assumes the right first to abuse 
it, and then to embarrass its operations, by bringing its 
character under reproach and destroying its influence, 
and, finally, opposes or incites others to oppose its decrees, 
becomes by such acts in the eyes of the law a traitor and 
a rebel, as much as he who takes up arms against the legi- 
timate Government of his country. This would be the 
decision in the courts in time of peace ; how much more, 
■'then, is the conduct of such men treasonous when the whole 
nation is in a state of war, and the Government struggling 
with a rebellion whose object is to dismember the country 
and destroy the Constitution ? Every word and deed cal- 
culated to destroy the popular confidence in the power of 
the Government to defend itself, under such circumstances, 
is a blow aimed at the vitality of the nation, and a stab in 
the back of every soldier whose face is turned to the armed 
rebels who strike at him in front. The man who, covertly 
or openly, seeks the destruction of my country's defenders, 
or gives aid and encouragement to my country's foes, is a 
public enemy, for whom I have nothing but the bitter word 
and, at the proper time, the deadly blow. Those who are 
not for the Government are against it. 

I have many and dear friends in the disloyal States, as 
well as disloyal friends in the loyal States, who are opposed 
to my course and views in the present struggle; and though 
I am ready to meet them in the field, North or South, to 
try the justice of the cause I uphold, still, from a sense of 
gratitude, I frankly affirm that my heart yearns towards 
them, and, were I swayed by my affections instead of my 



POETRY A SUBSTITUE FOR SPEECH-MAKING. 19 

sense of right and wrong, I should be inclined to find 
excuses for their rebellious attitude. I cannot entirely 
shut out of my heart and mempry recollections of friendly 
offices and kindly sympathies extended to me, in times gone 
by, by those who, without doubt, were happier under the 
then existing state of things than they could ever be were 
their wildest schemes of sectional aggrandizement perfected 
and secured. 

I can truly say, " Not that I loved Caesar less, but that 
I loved Rome more," is the cause of my antagonism to the 
rebellious attitude of the seceding States. 



ffleirg g Substitute for Sgw|-UaMng. . 

(An Extract from Mr. Murdoch's Lectures.) 

" The American Flag," by Joseph Rodman Drake, needs 
no prologue. It is probably the finest^ lyric the world has 
ever known or read; and it is to be regretted that, when it 
is sung, it is adapted to a mere opera-air. 

When "Cincinnati was threatened, and I among the rest 
of her citizens volunteered to her defence, I was induced 
to recite this grand national hymn under the following 
circumstances. 

Our pickets were skirmishing with those of the enemy ; 
within sight of our intrenchments, our citizens of all classes 
and ages had been working in the rifle-pits the previous 
day and night, and during the morning of the day I speak 
of, and after partaking of their mid-day meal, they were 
resting from their labors, under the shade of some large 
beech-trees. In passing from the head-quarters of General 



20 POETRY A SUBSTITUTE FOR SPEECH-MAKING. 

A. J. Smith, to Fort Mitchell, where my duty as officer of 
the fatigue forces called me that day, I was hailed by a 
well-known voice and asked to stop and give the amateur 
upholders of Adam's profession something to cheer and 
inspirit them before resuming their labors of the after- 
noon. "A speech ! a speech !" was the cry. 

But I had no confidence in my ability to address an 
assemblage (in which I recognized some of our leading 
statesmen, judges, and lawyers) in a speech upon so 
momentous an occasion. 

I simply remarked to them that it was a pleasant sight 
to see the citizens of a great republic ignoring the con- 
ventional lines which mark the intercourse of a large city, 
and working together, heart and hand, to resist the attack 
of a common enemy. 

"Why not, then, my friends, throw down the "old walls 
of partition which divide you politically, and, until this un- 
natural strife is ended, present one bold unflinching front 
to all foes of the Government and our national existence, 
whoever they may be and from whatever quarter they may 
come ? Why not uuite, and stand fearlessly by the Govern- 
ment as long as it is assailed, and thus manfully assert 
your determination to uphold it and preserve it, and thereby 
prove your love for the country, the whole country, and the 
glorious old flag V 

I then proceeded to recite Drake's poetic address to the 
American flag. At the close of the recitation, cheer upon 
cheer went up, that, in the language of Shakspeare, 

" made the welkin ring, 
And mock'd the deep-mouthed thunder." 

Had the enemy attacked us at that moment, I firmly believe 
that band of citizens would, in the absence of muskets (for 
they were not armed), have hurled themselves down the 



POETRY A SUBSTITUTE FOR SPEECH-MAKING. 21 

hillside and manfully dealt upon the foe with their picks 
and spades. 

A sturdy old Irishman stepped out from the crowd and 
tendered me his hand. " Faith, "said he, " I don't know your 
name, sir, but that's not the matter : 'tisn't to your name 
I have any thing to say, but 'tis to your speech ! Arrah, 
my jewel, they brought us out here yesterday, and meself 
and some of the others were not as well pleased as we might 
have been at a wake or a wedding. But for meself, I will 
venture to say, had I heard you make that speech on the 
other side of the river, the son of Molly Dougherty would 
have come over without a jaw or a grumble; and, faith, I 
believe I would have been after having a good musket wid 
me, instead of the pickaxe and spade. 

" Long life to you, sir, and to your speech about the Stars 
and the Stripes; for if any thing can make them better 
and brighter than they are, it's just the like of such talk as 
yourself makes over 'em. Sure, sir, we'll all work the longer 
and the easier because of such music as that/ 



%\t Jwmnm Jtaj. 

BY JOSEPH RODMAN DRAKE. 

When Freedom, from her mountain height, 

UnfurPd her standard to the air, 
She tore the azure robe of night, 

And set the stars of glory there ! 
She mingled with its gorgeous dyes 
The milky baldric of the skies, 
And striped its pure celestial white 
With streakings of the morning light, 
Then, from his mansion in the sun, 
She caiyd her eagle bearer down, 



22 POETRY A SUBSTITUTE FOR SPEECH-MAKING. 

And gave into his mighty hand 
The symbol of her chosen land ! 

Majestic monarch of the cloud, 

"Who rear'st aloft thy regal form, 
To hear the tempest-trumpings loud, 
And see the lightning lances driven, 

When strive the warriors of the storm, 
And rolls the thunder-drum of heaven, — 
Child of the Sun ! to thee 'tis given 
To guard the banner of the free, 
To hover in the sulphur smoke, 
To ward away the battle-stroke, 
And bid its blendings shine afar, 
Like rainbows on the cloud of war, 
The harbingers of victory ! 

Flag of the brave ! thy folds shall fly, 
The sign of hope and triumph high ! 
When speaks the signal-trumpet tone, 
And the long line comes gleaming on, 
Ere yet the life-blood, warm and wet, 
Has dimm'd the glistening bayonet, 
Each soldier's eye shall brightly turn 
To where thy sky-born glories burn, 
And as his springing steps advance, 
Catch war and vengeance from the glance. 
And when the cannon-mouthings loud 
Heave in wild wreaths the battle shroud, 
And gory sabres rise and fall 
Like shoots of flame on midnight pall, 
Then shall thy meteor glances glow, 

And cowering foes shall shrink beneath 
Each gallant arm that strikes below 

That lovely messenger of death. 

Flag of the seas ! on ocean wave 
Thy stars shall glitter o'er the brave ; 



MR. LINCOLN IN SPRINGFIELD, ETC. . 23 

"When death, careering on the gale, 
Sweeps darkly round the bellied sail, 
And frighted waves rush wildly back 
Before the broadside's reeling rack, 
Each dying wanderer of the sea 
Shall look at once to heaven and thee, 
And smile to see thy splendors fly 
In triumph o'er his closing eye. 

Flag of the free heart's hope and home, 

By angel-hands to valor given, 
Thy stars have lit the welkin dome, 

And all thy hues were born in heaven. 
Forever float that standard sheet , 

Where breathes the foe but falls before us, 
With Freedom's soil beneath our feet, * 

And Freedom's banner streaming o'er us ! 



Hr. Statute at Jmnt in SpngMr, ani p. f ro- 
tate at % W$tt fans* in Maspston. 

(Extract from Mr. Murdoch's Lectures.) 

While in Springfield, Illinois, on professional business, 
I met Mr. Lincoln in the studio of my friend Thomas 
Jones, the sculptor, who was modelling Mr. Lincoln's bust 
at the time; and I had quite a lengthened conversation 
with the future President. This was before Mr. Lincoln had 
been inaugurated. Telegrams were received in town that 
morning, stating that Charleston had been burned down by 
shells thrown into it by Major Anderson. The Legislature 
of Illinois had not yet been organized, although the mem- 
bers were all present. This was a political trick, intended 



24 . MR. LINCOLN IN SPRINGFIELD, 

to make capital for the Democratic party. The conse- 
quences were that great excitement prevailed in the city. 
Mr. Lincoln remarked, in reply to my question of what he 
thought of the aspect of things, and of our future : — 

" Sir, it appears to me we are in the midst of a great na- 
tional crisis, and under the control of circumstances evidently 
fashioned by the hand of Providence to produce a mighty 
revolution in the affairs of the American people, and per- 
haps of the entire world. But I have no fear of the result. 
If we can only keep the people on the track, and prevent 
scares and panics, we shall come through all right. Our 
people, sir, are a very excitable body, apt to switch off on 
side-tracks and at way-stations, sometimes, for the mere 
novelty of the change, rather than for any determinate 
object, merely because 'the lead is taken, and the cry is 
up/ Now, sir, I do not think this is the sober second 
thought of the people, but an impulse arising out of ex- 
citability. Their political rulers know this, and they often 
raise the cry of * Elephant !' and, you know, the popular 
wish to see that animal is very great. Consequently, the 
public mind is fired (as our neighbors have been firing the 
Southern heart) ; and, you know, when the pulse is quick, 
the muscle is active, and matter is moved, while the judg- 
ment is very apt, for the time-being, Ho go out wisiting/ 
as your friend Mr. Weller says. [I had been reading Pick- 
wick the evening before.] Now, sir, I hold in my hands," 
he continued (crumpling up several telegrams), "some of 
the most mischievous matters this nation has to contend 
with, — things gotten up and flashed over the country to 
create fogs and mists, in order that designing men may mis- 
lead their more honest neighbors. But, sir, there is a sun 
whose beams scatter and dispel all such foul vapors, — the 
sun of truth ; and if we will only await its coming forth, — 



AND MR. LINCOLN IN WASHINGTON. 25 

for, no matter now beclouded it may be, it will come forth 
(the longer hidden the brighter it will shine), it will 
enlighten the vision and gladden the hearts of all who de- 
sire light and not darkness. Our way is gloomy, and it 
may become blacker and more murky; but, sir, the light 
of God's providence will make all clear yet. To be sure, 
we may not have a bonfire at the beginning of every day's 
progress, but we shall find illuminations often enough, if 
we will only keep steadily on the track, be cool and calm 
in the face of danger, and have faith in the future. We 
shall come out of all this seeming chaos and confusion a 
wiser and a better people. There is no doubt that in such 
a storm as that which is brewing in our country, there 
must be many wrecks and much suffering; much of valuable 
matter will have to go overboard ; but enough will be saved 
to make a good voyage yet, and, I hope, to set the ship all 
right for another cruise. 

" Let the men to whom are intrusted the interests of the 
people illuminate these truths, and think more of the nation 
than of themselves. Let them review their oaths of office, 
and consider how fearfully responsible they are for all 
their acts in this crisis. Thus influenced and directed, the 
common enemy will be beaten down, and order restored. 
Let the people know the facts, let them see the danger; 
but let every effort be made to allay public fears, to inspire 
the masses with confidence and hope, and, above all, to 
frown down every attempt to create a panic. 

" Thus the public pulse will beat healthily, and we can 
safely judge of and contend with the disease which is de- 
veloping itself in the social and political body of the nation 

" There is, no doubt, sir, a great conflict for principle im- 
pending, and we must be, as our forefathers were, in the right, 
and success is certain. The Almighty will bring us safely 

3 



26 MR. LINCOLN IN SPRINGFIELD, 

through this, if we only keep cool, and maintain the right 
patiently and fearlessly. I have no fears for the result, and 
I don't intend to have any, do matter how things work." 

I began my conversation with Mr. Lincoln without intent 
or purpose. I had no sympathy with him, nor with the 
Republican party of that day ; yet I shook his hand, im- 
pressed, at parting, with the conviction that Abraham Lin- 
coln had a mission to perform, and that he would perform 
it according to his convictions of justice and duty. I had 
long thought that the gathering corruptions in political 
matters required, for their cure, treatment of a more posi- 
tive and thorough character than our national doctors had 
been dealing in for many years past; and I now began to 
think that the new treatment — under the new school and 
practice of the President — would, although it might possi- 
bly be administered with a parable-like story or a pleasant 
joke, prove any thing but pleasant in its operation to some 
patients. 

In speaking of this interview to my father, on my return 
to Ohio, I said, — 

" I have seen the man who is, under Providence, to con- 
trol and direct the crisis and the consequences in this our 
day of trial and tribulation. A man combining the firm- 
ness (which may lie concealed under a l method/ but still 
is firmness) of General Jackson, with the amiability of 
Henry Clay ; a man not one jot or tittle less imbued 
with patriotism and love of country than those great 
and good men were. Abraham Lincoln, if I am not 
mistaken in him, will disappoint two sets of men, — those 
who voted for him, thinking to control him in his ad- 
ministration, and those who voted against him, thinking 
he was not the man to master the situation of affairs and 
bring order out of chaos." 



AND MR. LINCOLN IN WASHINGTON. 27 

My father was an old-line Democrat, of the Jefferson 
and Jackson stamp; and I shall never forget his look 
when saying to me, the tears choking his utterance : — 

" May God grant that your impressions prove prophe- 
cies ! We want an honest man now, and not a mere politician, 
to direct us. These are evil times, and evil men are at 
work, for evil purposes. Honesty and truth may set us 
right, and if Mr. Lincoln will forget party and self, and 
serve his God and his country, I may yet be spared the 
sad fate of going down to a grave dug in the soil of a bleed- 
ing and a dismembered country. party! party! what 
a hydra-headed monster thou art I We must kill party- 
spirit, my son, or party-spirit will kill the nation." 

My father died before the battle of Bull Run took 
place, and before that next cruel thing was done, — the cow- 
ardly pleading for peace so basely put forth by the Breck- 
inridge wing of the Democratic party. Thank God ! these 
two inflictions were spared the old man, who loved his 
country, its history, and its institutions, truly and deeply, 
and who could have conceived of nothing so entirely 
wicked as to countenance even the supposition that the 
United States of America could ever become the efo's-united 
States; and, worse than all, that a Democrat could have 
been found base enough to say to those who were holding 
the knife at the throat of their bleeding country, " Let 
them alone ; let them go ! We know they are murderers 
and assassins, who have struck a deadly blow at their life- 
giving mother ; but we may want them in the future. Let 
them alone; let them go!" 

Let any disinterested man compare the subject-matter of 
these remarks of Mr. Lincoln, with his course from the 
time he left Springfield until he arrived in Washington 
City, together with his suggestions and actions since. Let 



28 MR. LINCOLN IN SPRINGFIELD, 

them, I repeat, compare what has gone before of his acts 
and deeds, with what he is doing, and they cannot fail, I 
think, to acknowledge that his whole course has been con- 
sistent and honest, and so shaped as to render available 
"the events and circumstances" which have arisen out of 
the acts of the Catilines of the South, and the consequences 
thus forced upon the Administration. 

That Mr. Lincoln is a joker, we know; and that he is a 
serious thinker, and an honest man, we know also. That 
this same " levity" (as some white-haired sinners call it) 
of Mr. Lincoln has been the "nice fence" with which he 
has foiled many a well-aimed thrust made at his arguments 
by his opponents, can plainly be seen by any man " who 
looks through the deeds" as well as the "words of men." 
The following quotation may not be inapplicable to our 
subject: — 

" He hath a right ready wit and a queasy mode of raillery 
that to querulous questioners may not sit so nicely as might 
be on shoulders somewhat bowed with dignities and honors. 
But yet, beshrew me, his mirth has meaning in it, and I 
would rather quarrel with than miss it. Ah, he's a merry 
man, ay, a merry and a proper ; and for one like me, whose 
crutch and spectacles will sometimes chide the quips and 
quillets of heartier days, there can be no better gossip to 
counsel, or crack a nut or joke withal, than our good 
keeper of the seals and parchments." 

Melchior Muhlenburg, the patriot parson of the Revo- 
lution, said, — 

"In this, the morn of Freedom's day, 
There is a time to fight and pray."* 



* Extract from " The Wagoner of the Alleghanies," by Thomas 
Buchanan Read. 



AND MR. LINCOLN IN WASHINGTON. 29 

Mr. Lincoln thinks, I suppose, that there is a time to 
joke and pray; and if, as his detractors affirm, he joked all 
the way to Washington, if he did not pray also (as we be- 
lieve he did, and fervently, too), he at least desired the 
prayers of others, as the circumstances recorded in the fol- 
lowing poem will show. It is from the pen of a lady of 
Philadelphia, Mrs. Anna Bache. 



% mtok at Sprinjfiffir, 18fil 

"The fear of the Lord is the begiuning of wisdom." 

There stood a man in the West Countrie, 

Slender and tall and gaunt was he ; 

His form was not cast in a courtier's mould, 

But his eye was bright, and his bearing bold. 

A crowd had gathered to hear him speak, 

And the blood surged up in his sunburn'd cheek ; 

Familiar with toil was his outstretched hand. 

For a man of the people was he, 
Who had learn'd to obey, ere call'd to command.— 

Such men are the pride of the West Countrie. 

"My friends, — elected by your choice, 

From the long-cherish'd home I go, 
Endear'd by heaven-permitted joys, 

Sacred by heaven-permitted woe. 
I go, to take the helm of state, 

While loud the waves of faction roar, 
And by His aid, supremely great, 
Upon whose will all tempests wait, 

I hope to steer the bark to shore. 
Not since the days when Washington 
To battle led our patriots on, 
Have clouds so dark above us met, 
Have dangers dire so close beset. 
3* 



30 MR. LINCOLN IN SPRINGFIELD, 

And he had never saved the land 

By deeds in human wisdom plann'd, 

But that with Christian faith he sought 

Guidance and blessing, where he ought. 

Like him, I seek for aid divine, — 

His faith, his hope, his trust, are mine. 

Pray for me, friends, that God may make 

My judgment clear, my duty plain ; 
For if the Lord no wardship take, 

The watchmen mount the towers in vain." 

He ceased ; and many a manly breast 

Panted with strong emotion's swell, 
And many a lip the sob suppress'd, 

And tears from manly eyelids fell. 
And hats came off, and heads were bow'd, 

As Lincoln slowly moved away ; 
And then, heart-spoken, from the crowd, 
In accents earnest, clear, and loud, 

Came one brief sentence, "We will pray!" 

Mrs. Anna Bache. 

Desiring that Mr. Lincoln's record may be always before 
the public, we copy here his letter explaining some of his 
apparent inconsistencies, as they are termed. 

(Extract from the Frankfort (Kentucky) "Commonwealth," 
April 26, 1S64.) 

The circumstances which elicited from the President the 
letter are, as we understand them, about as follows: — 

The Senior of the Commonwealth, Colonel Hodges, by 
invitation, accompanied Governor Bramlette, and the Honor- 
able x\rchie Dixon, on their recent visit to the Executive 
Mansion at Washington, where they had interviews with 
the President and the Secretary of War. 

At the close of the interview between President Lin- 



AND MR." LINCOLN IN WASHINGTON. 31 

coin, Governor Bramlette and Senator Dixon, the President 
pleasantly remarked, as the other gentlemen were about re- 
tiring, that he was apprehensive that Kentucky felt un- 
kindly towards him, in consequence of not properly under- 
standing the difficulties by which he was surrounded, in 
his efforts to put down this rebellion, and that he would 
explain to the gentlemen some of those difficulties, if they 
felt inclined to hear him. A willingness was at once mani- 
fested, and the President explained to them the difficulties 
which he had alluded to. 

On a subsequent occasion, in a conversation with Mr. 
Lincoln, Colonel Hodges remarked that he was satisfied 
that the President was greatly misunderstood by many 
of the citizens of Kentucky, and that he would greatly 
oblige him if he would write out the remarks made to 
Governor Bramlette and Senator Dixon, in order that, with 
the President's permission, they might be published in the 
" Commonwealth j' that, if published, the Colonel doubted 
not they would remove much of the prejudice which was 
attempted to be created against the President in Kentucky. 

The President took the matter into consideration, and, 
shortly after his return home, the Colonel received the fol- 
lowing, which we would commend to the deliberate con- 
sideration of the patriotic people of Kentucky : — 

"Executive Mansion, "I 
Washington, April 4, 1864. J 

"A. G. Hodges, Esq., Frankfort, Kentucky: 

"My dear Sir: — You ask me to put in writing the sub- 
stance of what I verbally said the other day, in your presence, 
to Governor Bramlette and Senator Dixon. It was about as 
follows : — 

"I am naturally anti-slavery. If slavery is not wrong, 
nothing is wrong. I cannot remember when I did not so think 



32 MR. LINCOLN IN SPRINGFIELD, 

and feel. And yet I have never understood that the Presi- 
dency conferred upon me an unrestricted right to act officially 
upon this judgment and feeling. It was in the oath I took that 
I would, to the best of my ability, preserve, protect, and defend 
the Constitution of the United States. I could not take the 
office without taking the oath. Nor was it my view that I might 
take the oath to get power, and break the oath in using the 
power. I understood, too, that in ordinary civil administra- 
tion this oath even forbade me to practically indulge in pri 
mary, abstract judgment on the moral question of slavery. I 
had publicly declared this many times and in many ways. 
And I aver that, to this day, I have done no official act in mere 
deference to my abstract judgment and feeling on slavery. 

"I did understand, however, that my oath to preserve the 
Constitution to the best of my ability, imposed upon me the 
duty of preserving, by every indispensable means, that Govern- 
ment — that nation — of which that Constitution was the organic 
law. Was it possible to lose the nation and yet preserve the 
Constitution ? 

" By general law, life and limb must be protected ; yet often 
a limb must be amputated to save a life ; but a life is never 
wisely given to save a limb. I felt that measures otherwise 
unconstitutional might become lawful by becoming indispen- 
sable to the preservation of the Constitution, through the pre- 
servation of the nation. Right or wrong, I assumed this 
ground, and now avow it. I could not feel that to the best of 
my ability I had even tried to preserve the Constitution, if, to 
save slavery, or any minor matter, I should permit the wreck 
of Government, country, and Constitution altogether. When, 
early in the war, General Fremont attempted military emanci- 
pation, I forbade it, because I did not then think it an indis- 
pensable necessity. When, a little later, General Cameron, 
then Secretary of War, suggested the arming of the blacks, I 
objected, because Ldid not yet think it an indispensable neces- 
sity. When, still later, General Hunter attempted military 
emancipation, I again forbade it, because I did not yet think 
the indispensable necessity had come. 



AND MR. LINCOLN IN WASHINGTON. 33 

"When, in March and May and July, 1862, I made ear- 
nest and successive appeals to the border States to favor com- 
pensated emancipation, I believed the indispensable necessity 
for military emancipation and arming the blacks would come, 
unless averted by that measure. They declined the proposition ; 
and I was, in my best judgment, driven to the alternative of 
either surrendering the Union, and with it the Constitution, or 
of laying strong hands upon the colored element. I chose the 
latter. In choosing it, I hoped for greater gain than loss ; but 
of this I was not entirely confident. More than a year of trial 
now shows no loss by it in our foreign relations, none in our 
home popular sentiment, none in our white military force, — 
no loss by it anyhow or anywhere. On the contrary, it shows 
a gain of quite a hundred and thirty thousand soldiers, sea- 
men, and laborers. These are palpable facts, about which, as 
facts, there can be no cavilling. We have the men, and we 
could not have had them without the measure. 

" And now, let any Union man, who complains of the mea- 
sure, test himself, by writing down in one line that he is for 
taking these one hundred and thirty thousand men from the 
Union side, and placing them where they would be but for the 
measure he condemns. If he cannot face his cause so stated, 
it is only because he cannot face the truth. 

" I add a word, which was not in the verbal conversation. 
In telling this tale, I attempt no compliment to my own saga- 
city. I claim not to have controlled events, but -confess plainly 
that events have controlled me. Now, at the end of three 
years' struggle, the nation's condition is not what either party 
or any man devised or expected. £Srod alone can claim it. 
Whither it is tending seems plain. If God wills the removal 
of a great wrong, and wills also that we of the North, as well 
as you of the South, shall pay fairly for our complicity in that 
wrong, impartial history will find therein new causes to attest 
and revere the justice and goodness of God. 

"Yours, truly, 

"A. Lincoln." 



34 MR. LINCOLN IN SPRINGFIELD, 

The following letter and poem were received on the 15th 
of February, 1864, and read in the Senate-Ghamber, on 
the occasion of one of my patriotic readings for the bene- 
fit of the United States Sanitary Commission. 

Previous to commencing my reading, I met the Presi- 
dent in the private room of the Vice-President, and asked 
him if the sentiment of the poem met with his approval, 
as well as the poetry. He replied, — 

11 Sir, I admire the one and approve the other, entirely 
and heartily. " 

I read the poem in the course of the evening, and, judg- 
ing from the applause (loud and long) bestowed on it, the 
audience endorsed, in every sense, the poetry and the senti- 
ment quite as fully and feelingly as Mr. Lincoln. 

"Executive Mansion, ] 

Washington, February 15, 1864. j 

"My dear Sir: — The President of the United States directs 
me to send you the enclosed little poem, and to request that, if 
entirely convenient, you will please to read it at the Senate- 
Chamb'er this evening. 

" I have the honor to be 

"Your obedient servant, 
"Jno. G. Nicolay, 

" Private Secretary. 
"James E. Murdoch, Esq." 

"The following patriotic lines were written by one of the most dis- 
tinguished statesmen of the United States, in answer to a lady's inquiry 
whether he was for peace." — Editor. 



Sralfbr |ra«? gts! 



For the peace which rings out from the cannon's throat, 

And the suasion of shot and shell, 
Till rebellion's spirit is trampled down 

To the depths of its kindred hell. 



AND MR. LINCOLN IN WASHINGTON. 35 

For the peace which shall follow the squadrons' tramp, 

Where the brazen trumpets bray, 
And, drunk with the fury of storm and strife, 

The blood-red chargers neigh. 

For the peace which shall wash out the leprous stain 

Of our slavery, foul and grim, 
And shall sunder the fetters which creak and clank 

On the down-trodden dark man's limb. 

I will curse him as traitor, and false of heart, 
"Who would shrink from the conflict now, 

And will stamp it, with blistering, burning brand, 
On his hideous, Cain-like brow. 

Out ! out of the way ! with your spurious peace, 
Which would make us rebellion's slaves ! 

We will rescue our land from the traitorous grasp, 
Or cover it over with graves. 

Out ! out of the way ! with your knavish schemes, 

You trembling and trading pack ! 
Crouch away in the dark, like a sneaking hound 

That its master has beaten back. 

You would barter the fruit of our fathers' blood, 

And sell out the Stripes and Stars, 
To purchase a place with rebellion's votes, 

Or escape from rebellion's scars. 

By the widow's wail, by the mother's tears, 

By the orphans who cry for bread, 
By our sons who fell, we will never yield 

Till rebellion's soul is dead. 



36 THE PRESCIENCE OF THE POET. 



(Extract from Mr. Murdoch's Lectures.) 

The following lines are from a poem by Thomas Bu- 
chanan Read, Esq., entitled " The New Pastoral," published 
about ten years ago. They derive their present interest 
mainly from the fact that they are singularly prophetic of 
events which now form the murky clouds enshrouding the 
whole nation in one common gloom, and of the rainbow 
arch of hope which will hereafter break forth and dispel 
the darkness in the ordered time of Him who hath said, 
u I make peace and create evil." 

Mr. Read seems to have been impressed with the idea 
of awakening the enthusiasm of the people in favor of 
their country, by elevating them above mere party strifes, 
and filling them with the inspiration of a great cause. 

In one of the passages, you will observe, he anticipates 
the time when, through the machinations of the artful and 
designing demagogue, this fair land may be divided and 
desolated by civil war, and, with surprising prescience, 
signalizes, and almost names, the man who, from the ranks 
of toil and private life, may arise to redeem the nation. 
Whether in this peculiar passage he had the present Chief 
Magistrate in view, it is not for me to say; but certainly the 
reader cannot fail to distinguish something like a portrait 
of that President who, born among the people and in his 
early life devoted to hard toil, may, with the blessing of 
divine Providence, prove to be the accepted chieftain 
of the deliverance of the Republic, and the perpetuation 
of the Union. 



THE PRESCIENCE OP THE POET. 37 

This extract was first read in the Hall of Representatives 
at Washington, on the occasion of a benefit for the sick 
and wounded soldiers. A large and distinguished audience 
was present; the extract was part of my introduction; and, 
as I uttered the prophecy concerning the man of the West, 
Mr. Lincoln entered the chamber and seated himself in a 
chair on the right of the Speaker's stand, near the entrance. 
He was not observed for some moments, but gradually his 
presence was acknowledged by loud applause, which finally 
became general, as the application of his position and ser- 
vices to the poet's language became apparent and general. 
I was not aware of his presence, till, pausing in respect to 
the applause, I inadvertently turned, and saw the President 
in the chair near to the door. He came late, and, not 
wishing to disturb the speaker, he had entered alone, and 
quietly seated himself in the vacant chair. 



dfetet ixm %\t $to fatal, 

BY THOMAS BUCHANAN READ. 

Oh, to roam, like the rivers, through empires of woods, 
Where the king of the eagles in majesty broods, 
Or to ride the wild horse o'er the boundless domain, 
And to drag the wild buffalo down to the plain, 
There to chase the fleet stag, and to track the huge bear, 
And to face the lithe panther at bay in his lair, 
Are a joy which alone cheers the pioneer's breast, 
For the only true hunting-ground lies in the West ! 

Leave the tears to the maiden, the fears to the child, 
W^hile the future stands beckoning afar in the wild ; 
For there Freedom, more fair, walks the primeval land ; 
Where the wild deer all court the caress of her hand, 

4 



38 THE PRESCIENCE OF THE POET. 

There the deep forests fall, and the old shadows fly, 
And the palace and temple leap into the sky. 
Oh, the East holds no place where the onward can rest, 
And alone there is room in the land of the West I 

Let contemplation view the future scene. 

Afar the woods before the vision fly, 

Swift as the shadow o'er the meadow-grass 

Chased by the sunshine, and a realm of farms 

O'erspreads the country wide, where many a spire 

Springs in the valleys, and on distant hills, — 

The watch-towers of the land. Here quiet herds 

Shall crop the ample pasture, and on slopes 

Doze through the summer noon. While every beast 

Which prowls, a terror to the frontier fold, 

Shall only live in some remember'd tale, 

Told by tradition in the lighted hall, 

When the red grate usurps the wooded hearth. 

Here shall the city spread its noisy streets, 

And groaning steamers chafe along the wharves ; 

While hourly o'er the plain, with streaming plume, 

Like a swift herald bringing news of peace, 

The rattling train shall fly ; and from the East — 

E'en from the Atlantic to the new-found shores 

Where far Pacific rolls, in storm or rest, 

Washing his sands of gold — the arrowy track 

Shall stretch its iron bond through all the land. 

Then these interior plains shall be as they 

Which hear the ocean roar ; and Northern lakes 

Shall bear their produce, and return them wealth , 

And Mississippi, father of the floods, 

Perform their errands to the Mexic Gulf, 

And send them back the tropic bales and fruits. 

Then shall the generations musing here 

Dream of the troublous days before their time, 

And antiquaries point the very spot 

Where rose the first rude cabin, and the space 



THE PRESCIENCE OF THE POET. 39 

Where stood the forest chapel with its graves, 

And where the earliest marriage rites were said. 

Here, in the middle of the nation's arms, 

Perchance the mightiest inland mart shall spring ; 

Here the great statesman from the ranks of toil 

May rise, with judgment clear, as strong as wise, 

And, with a well-directed patriot blow, 

Eeclinch the rivets in our union-bands, 

Which tinkering knaves have striven to set ajar! 

Here shall, perchance, the mighty bard be born, 

With voice to sweep and thrill the nation's heart, 

Like his own hand upon the corded harp. 

His songs shall be as precious girths of gold, 

Reaching through all the quarters of the land, 

Inlaid so deep within the country's weal, 

That they shall hold when heavier bands shall fail, 

Eaten by rust, or broke by traitor blows. 

Heaven speed his coming ! He is needed now ! 

He wisely spake who said, "Let me but sing 

The songs, and let who will enact the laws." 

There are whose lips are touch'd with living fire ; 

\f this great moment are they silent now? 

Lift up your foreheads, ye glorious few, 

E.rilt your laurels in the gusty air! 

And, like brave heralds on a windy hill, 

Let your clear voices as a bugle ring ! 

The wild time needs you. There are trembling hearts 

To strengthen and assure ; and there are tongues, 

Uttering they know not what, that should be drown'd, 

And babbling lips that should be fill'd with song, 

Lest they breathe treason unaware. Who dares, 

Like that bad angel which dismember'd heaven, 

Stand forth, and, with "disunion" on his lips, 

Earn endless infamy ? None are so base, 

Or if he lives — the world on land and sea 

Hides many monsters — let his villain tongue, 

In its proclaiming, struck with palsy, cleave — 



40 THE PRESCIENCE OP THE POET. 

Cleave to the root, as with a ten years' drought, 
And rot to ashes in the traitor's throat ! 
And may his arm which lifts the severing sword 
Be lightning-shiver'd ere it gives the blow ! 
And on his brow be branded these black words : 
" Behold the Iscariot of his native land !" 
Then drive him forth in all his impotence, — 
The wide earth's exile, — an abhorred show ! 

thou, my country, may the future see 
Thy shape majestic stand supreme as now, 
And every stain which mars thy starry robe, 
In the white sun of truth be bleach' d away ! 
Hold thy grand posture with unswerving mien, 
Firm as a statue proud of its bright form, 
Whose purity would daunt the vandal hand 
In fury raised to shatter ! From thine eye 
Let the' clear light of freedom still dispread 
The broad, unclouded, stationary noon! 
Still with thy right hand on the fasces lean, 
And with the other point the living source 
Whence all thy glory comes ; and where unseen, 
But still all-seeing, the great patriot souls 
Whose swords and wisdom left us thus enrich'd. 
Look down and note how we fulfil our trust! 
Still hold beneath thy fix'd and sandal'd foot 
The broken sceptre and the tyrant's gyves; 
And let thy stature shine above the world, 
A form of terror and of loveliness ! 
(Published in 1850.) 



THE RELICS. 41 



%\t pits. 

(Extract from Mr. Murdoch's Lectures.) 

I firmly believe Abraham Lincoln, our Chief Magistrate, 
to be earnest, honest, and truthful, and solely bent on 
serving the country for the country's sake. I also believe 
him to be imbued with unbounded faith in the justice of 
our country's cause, and with a never-failing hope that the 
efforts of his loyal countrymen throughout the length and 
breadth of the land, strengthened by the mercy and grace 
of Almighty God, will restore peace to the people and unity 
to the nation. In consideration of these truths, I have pre- 
pared, and will cause to be presented to the President of 
the nation, a memorial emblematic of the noble virtues of 
the people whom he represents, and of that trust in Pro- 
vidence by which his public acts have ever been impelled. 
I desire to bring to public remembrance, by the gift I have 
prepared, and which will be presented to Mr. Lincoln in 
behalf of the loyal men and women of America, some of 
those great national events upon which rests the true glory 
of our American Republic. 

Among other mementoes fondly cherished, I have in my 
possession a piece of the Treaty Elm of William Penn, a 
part of the veritable keel of the old United States frigate 
Alliance, and a fragment of the flag-halliards of the noble 
ship Cumberland, lately lost in Chesapeake Bay. 

In the form of an ornamental paper-weight, I have 
caused to be placed together these authentic relics of 
three great periods of our national history, — the treaty 
of William Penn with the aborigines, the unfurling of 
the flag of our Republic in '76, and the equally heroic 

4* 



12 THE RELICS. 

defence of that flag against the formidable domestic treason 
with which we are now contending. This memento, though 
of but little intrinsic value, is to me, and I feel assured it 
will be to the President, of inestimable price," as a relic of 
our country's history, and a memorial of the many noble 
charities which have been established during the present 
war to aid the sick and wounded soldiers and their suffering 
families. The cheerful; bountiful, and laborious efforts of 
these truly humane institutions, aided, and in many instances 
inaugurated, by the ladies, present a grand and generous 
offering of a free people to the noble army of patriots 
whose stalwart arms and undaunted hearts are the bul- 
warks of the country. This offering was conceived and 
will be tendered in a truely Christian and patriotic spirit; 
and its record will forever remain to express the heart- 
felt sympathy and devotion which the American women 
manifest for their gallant defenders. It will ever prove 
how dear to them is the cause their soldiers bleed for, 
and ho# precious is every drop of blood shed and every 
pang endured by their countrymen. The sufferings of our 
army, and the sustaining sympathy of our noble country- 
women, have thrown around the nation and its starry 
emblem a halo of religious sanctity, an atmosphere of self- 
sacrificing devotion, which will forever vindicate our 
patriotism from the sneers of foreign critics, and add an 
almost sacred glory to the history of republican institu- 
tions. 

In order to revive in the public mind the recollections 
of the past, of old times and old things, and to connect 
them with the passing events of the present, I will here 
introduce a few words of comment and description re- 
garding the articles which compose the mementoes I have 
prepared. 



THE RELICS. 43 

First, a piece of the elm-tree which stood on the shores 
of the Delaware near the city of Philadelphia, under whose 
branches William Penn made his treaty with the Indians. 
The morning after the old tree had been blown down, about 
fifty years ago, my father, Lieutenant Thomas Murdoch, a 
resident of my native city, Philadelphia, cut a piece of 
the wood to keep as a memento of the locality and the 
event that had made it memorable. 

Second, a piece of the wood of the keel of the old 
frigate Alliance, a ship whose log-book recorded triumphs 
and incidents as glorious as the achievements of any vessel 
in the navies of the world. 

She carried the pennant of that old sea-king, Com- 
modore Paul Jones, and bore the first American flag that 
was ever saluted in a foreign port. 

My father (who, I am proud to say, commanded a volun- 
teer battery in the War of 1812, and was a great venerator 
of every thing connected with the history of his country) 
was familiar with the story of the ship, and with the old 
hulk which lay in the mud of Petty's Island, opposite the 
extreme northern section of Philadelphia, for nearly half 
a century. Fifteen years ago, or more, perhaps, the 
remains were removed, to make way for improvements; 
and my father caused the workmen to cut out pieces of 
the keel, which were found to be in good preservation, to 
add to his stock of relics. 

Third, and last, a piece of the halliards of the flag of 
the frigate Cumberland, whose gallant defence against the 
iron-clad Merrimac has excited the wonder and admiration 
of the world. This relic was procured from the wreck and 
presented to me by Mr. George B. Coal, of Baltimore, a 
short time after the conflict. 

These articles are wrought into a stand on which rests a 



44 THE RELICS. 

miniature anchor with a coil of cable, attached, forming an 
emblematical paper-weight. 

The anchor, being the received emblem of faith and 
hope, suggested the appropriateness of the present to Mr. 
Lincoln. 

The treaty-tree represents the colonial state of the country. 

The war-ship, the struggle by which our forefathers 
established the present Government. 

The shreds of the halliards, the foul conspiracy in the 
South to overthrow that Government. 

The simplicity and truthfulness of the President's cha- 
racter, the peaceable and humble nature of his early pur- 
suits, his manly and determined opposition to wrong, the 
firmness with which he took his stand at the onset of the 
rebellion, together with his hopeful dependence on the 
protecting arm of Providence, and his -firm trust in the 
mercy and goodness of our Father in heaven, — all these 
traits of a just and good man, holding the helm of state 
in a crisis involving the happiness and safety of all, point 
to him as the man of the nation most fitting at this 
moment to possess these emblems of the noble actions 
of his countrymen. In order to throw around this pre- 
sent, so simple in itself, and yet so full of rich historic 
value, the charm of poetic enforcement and appreciation, 
I will call to my aid a poem whose sublime sentiment 
seems to me to be equally applicable to the country and 
to her honest and able Chief Magistrate, the immortal 
lines of our own poet and fervent advocate of truth, William 
Cullen Bryant: — 

" Ah, never shall the land forget 

How gush'd the life-blood of the brave, — 
Qush'd warm with hope and courage yet 
Upon the soil they sought to save. 



THE RELICS. 45 

"Soon rested they who fought ; but thou, 

"Who minglest in the harder strife, 

For truths which men receive not now, 

Thy warfare only ends with life. 

"A friendless warfare, lingering long 
Through weary day and weary year; 
A wild and many-weapon'd throng 
Hangs on thy front and flank and rear. 

"Yet nerve thy spirit to the proof, 
And blench not at thy chosen lot : 
The timid good may stand aloof, 

The sage may frown, — but faint thou not. 

" Nor heed the shaft too surely cast, 
The foul and blasting bolt of scorn; 
For with thy side shall dwell, at last, 
The victory of endurance born. 

Truth crush' d to earth shall rise again ; 

The eternal years of God are hers ; 
But Error, wounded, writhes in pain, 

And dies among her worshippers. 

"Yea, though thou liest upon the dust, 
When they who help'd thee flee in fear, 
Die full of hope and manly trust, 
Like those who fell in battle here ! 

"Another hand thy sword shall wield, 
Another hand the standard wave, 
Till from the trumpet's mouth is peal'd 
The blast of triumph o'er thy grave !" 



46 THE MEMENTO TO SECRETARY CHASE. 



In every stage of human progress and trial, either in 
an upward or downward direction, the Almighty prescience 
and wisdom have called forth some power or persons to 
master the situation, and to direct and control the means 
by which the event and circumstance of the period or 
its crisis has been advanced and perfected. 

In the affairs of the Revolution our forefathers were 
blessed with a man and a genius by whose direction and 
example order was brought out of chaos, and the military 
elements of the struggle so combined and employed that, 
though baffled and delayed for a time in their operations, 
success eventually crowned and rewarded them. 

As George Washington was the bright particular star 
of the struggle whose triumph gave to the world a govern- 
ment which is the shield and staff of all the weak and the 
weary of the nations of the earth, who seek its shelter and 
support, so Robert Morris was the polar star by whose 
directing influence the .financial affairs of the Revolution 
(though storm-tossed and buffeted by the waves of adverse 
seas) were brought to shelter and safe harborage. The 
star of Washington's popular reward culminated and blazed 
in the meridian of his own times, and will continue to 
shine as long as the sacred fires shall burn on the altar of 
the temple of Fame. 

The services of Morris, though of no less value intrin- 
sically than those of the nation's general, were not of a 
character as appreciable to the masses. The eye which can 
see the result ' >f a military campaign may not discern and 
comprehend the subtle ramifications of financial diplomacy: 



THE MEMENTO TO SECRETARY CHASE. 47 

therefore the people who could as a body appreciate the 
services of Washington when victory crowned them with 
success, might not, and it is to be feared were not able to, 
distinguish and appreciate the genius and the means by which 
the brave and suffering soldiers were fed and clothed, even as 
poorly and as scantily as it was often their sad fate to be. 

Although the full measure of fame and justice was not 
awarded to Robert Morris in his lifetime, yet his services 
and sacrifices are so incorporated with the history of the 
Revolution, that so long as that record stands he cannot be 
forgotten. Future historians will regild the bright letters 
in which his services were first recorded, — the just tribute 
paid to his merits by those who knew and felt that to the 
genius and labors of the great financier of 1776 the nation 
was as largely indebted for its independence and glory 
as it was to the devoted bravery of its gallant defenders 
in the field. 

History, it is said, reproduces itself. The great rebellion 
followed the great revolution. The financial struggle of 
the one is the history of the other. Old landmarks were 
swept away, and a new line marked out and followed. A 
man and a policy were developed in one crisis; a man 
and a policy arose in the other. The treasury ship was 
stranded by the pirates who deserted her in 1860, but the 
wreckers did not board her before a new commander came 
to her rescue; energy and skill soon floated and manned 
her; and now, in 1864, she is steadily sailing before the 
favoring gales of credit and success, riding the waves of 
that perilous ocean in safety, in whose fogs and on whose 
shoals and rocks she was threatened with shipwreck. 

Salmon P. Chase has not only accomplished the herculean 
task of averting all the threatened and existing dangers 
by which the finances of the nation were surrounded, but 



48 THE MEMENTO TO SECRETARY CHASE. 

he has turned peril into security. The elements of weak- 
ness in our system of banking and currency have become, 
under the influence of his foresight and genius, a basis of 
strength. Not only have the finances of the country been 
so managed as fully to supply the gigantic wants of the 
national policy (forced into operation by the insurgents 
and their aiders and abettors at home and abroad), but also 
to provide for its future requisitions, whether for the pur- 
poses of commerce or of war, no matter what the situation 
of affairs may be when the rebellion is crushed, or what 
may arise from the maintenance of the "Monroe doctrine" 
in the future. To the bold, though consistent, experiments 
and plans of our patriotic and energetic Secretary of the 
Treasury do we owe "the sinews of war," by which the 
Government has been enabled to protect and defend itself 
against one of the most wicked and powerful conspiracies 
ever planned to destroy a nation. 

Mr. Chase may be truly said to possess that inestimable 
jewel, embodied in the following ancient aphorism : — " The 
greatest honor a citizen can achieve is to deserve well of 
the republic." Actuated by a sincere desire to stimulate 
the public appreciation of such services, I have prepared a 
" paper-weight" of the wood of the " treaty elm" and of 
the Alliance ', to which I have added a specimen of gold 
quartz procured by me from a mine in California in 1853. 
This memento is to be presented to Mr. Chase in the same 
spirit, and in behalf of the same public benefactions, as 
those which represent the gift to the President. 

The wood of the u treaty elm" may serve to represent 
the peaceable character of American institutions. The 
wood of the old frigate will serve to symbolize the material 
of the nation's defences and the boundless capacity and 
power of the people's commerce; for the old Alliance was 



ITEMS CONCERNING THE TREATY ELM. 49 

first a war-ship, and afterwards a merchantman. The gold 
quartz represents the mineral resources of the republic. 
The combination of these materials in the " paper- weight," 
and the uses to which it is adapted, may not inaptly typify 
the strength and wealth of the national power and resources, 
and illustrate their ability when applied as a u weight" to 
secure the national currency from the winds of factious 
party at home, or from the gales of envy and detraction 
blowing from abroad. 

These " relics" will be of additional value to the re- 
cipients, as they have been the means of calling forth a 
generous endorsement from the lovers of the Union, in the 
form of subscriptions to the funds of the several institu- 
tions devoted to the soldier's wants. 

At the close of the Philadelphia Sanitary Fair, the 
directors of that institution will forward the "weights" to 
Washington, and cause them to be appropriately presented 
to the distinguished gentlemen for whom they are designed. 



Items £0ttarninjj % Sreatg (Sim. 

The following interesting facts, compiled from the best 
authorities, will serve to refresh our historic recollections 
without going into extensive reviews. 

In the summer of 1682, a small vessel, called the "Wel- 
come," sailed from England with William Penn and a 
company of Quakers for the shores of Delaware Bay and 
river, — on the borders of which lay a broad domain granted 
to Penn by Charles the Second. 

Penn arrived, proceeded up the river to Shackamaxon, 

5 



50 ITEMS CONCERNING THE TREATY ELM. 

now Kensington, and there, under the wide-spreading, but 
then leafless, branches of an elm-tree on the banks of the 
Delaware, he purchased the good will of the tribes by kind 
and gentle words and gifts, to them, of great value. 

" We meet," said the man of peace, " in the broad path- 
way of good faith and good will. No advantage shall be 
taken on either side, but all shall be openness and love. I 
will not call you children, for parents sometimes chide 
their children too severely; nor brothers, for brothers 
differ. The friendship between you and me I will not 
compare to a chain, for that the rains might rust and the 
falling tree break : we are the same as if one man's body 
were to be divided into two parts; we are all one flesh 
and blood." 

This plain talk, and the truthful spirit that prompted it, 
impressed the Indian favorably ; and he replied, " We will 
live in love with William Penn and his children as long as 
the sun and moon shall endure." The Quaker kept his 
simply proffered faith, and the Indian dwelt in his. Vol- 
taire says, " Penn began by making a league with his 
American neighbors. It is the only treaty between those 
nations and the Christians which was never sworn to and 
never broken." 

Thus was established the Commonwealth of Pennsyl- 
vania, whose principles are expressed in the name of its 
chief city, Philadelphia, which is brotherly love. 

u Thou'lt find, said the Quaker, in me and mine 
But friends and brothers to thee and thine, 
Who abuse no power, and admit no line 

Twixt the red man and the white. 
And bright was the spot where the Quaker came, 
To leave his hat, his drab, and his name, 
That will sweetly sound from the trump of Fame, 

Till its final blast shall die." 



THE TREATY-TREE. 51 

The treaty-tree, as the great elm was ever afterwards 
called, became an object of veneration. It was blown down 
during a storm on the night of March 3, 1810. Its con- 
secutive rings proved it to have been two hundred and 
eighty years old. The trunk was twenty-four feet in cir- 
cumference. Many valuable articles for preservation were 
made from the wood. A monument was erected by the 
Penn Society upon the spot where the old tree had stood 
so long. The venerable Judge Peters, the esteemed and 
personal friend of Washington, thus wrote after the elm 
had fallen : — 

" Let each take a relic from that hallow'd tree, 
Which, like Penn whom it shaded, immortal shall be. 
As the pride of our forests, let elms be renown'd 
For the justly prized virtues with which they abound. 
Though time has devoted our tree to decay, 
The sage "lessons it witness'd survive to this day. 
May our trustworthy statesmen, when call'd to the helm, 
Ne'er forget the wise treaty held under the elm." 

The following are the inscriptions of the monument. 
North side, " Treaty-ground of William Penn and the 
Indian nation, 1682. Unbroken -Faith." South side, 
"William Penn, born 1644, died 1718." West side, 
"Placed by Penn Society, Anno Domini 1827, to mark 
the site of the great Elm-tree." East side, "Pennsylvania 
founded, 1681, by deeds of peace." 



52 HISTORY OF THE ALLIANCE. 



Indbtttts m % Sisters rf % «lft »r-Sfeijj Qt 

The Alliance was built at Salisbury, Massachusetts, — a 
place that figured as a building-station even in the seventeenth 
century. She was launched about the time the treaty was 
made with France, and named after that event. Cooper 
says, " She was the favorite ship of the American navy; and 
it may be said of the American people, during the War of 
the Revolution, filled some such place in the public mind 
as has since been occupied by her more celebrated successor 
the Constitution. She was a beautiful and an exceedingly 
fast ship, but was rendered less efficient than she might 
have proved, by the mistake of placing her under the com- 
mand of a Frenchman, who had entered our service. This 
was evidently done to pay a compliment to the new allies 
of the Republic. This unfortunate selection produced muti- 
nies, much discontent among the officers, and, in the end, 
grave irregularities. Landais was at last supposed to be 
insane, and was dismissed the navy." 

The first prominent service this ship was employed in 
was to carry that gallant and devoted friend of the nation, 
Lafayette, to France. Then, under the command of Com- 
modore Barry, one of the most brave and distinguished 
officers of the navy, she made another trip to France, 
carrying out Colonel Laurens as a commissioner to the 
French court. During the voyage back, Commodore Barry 
engaged two British ships of war, and in the midst of the 
fight, under every disadvantage, the Commodore was struck 
in the shoulder by a grape-shot, and carried below. One of 
his officers, following, stated to him the shattered condition 



HISTORY OF THE ALLIANCE. 53 

of the ship, loss of men, &c., and asked if the colors 
should be struck. 

"No," said the suffering Barry : " if you cannot fight the 
enemy, carry me on deck, and I will." 

When the sailors heard the heroic answer of their com- 
mander, they rent the air with their shouts, crying that 
they would stick to the Commodore to the last. The fight 
was renewed, and the enemy's two ships struck to the Stars 
and Stripes. 

Without enumerating further conflicts in which the 
Alliance maintained the honor of the flag of the young 
Republic, we will quote again from Cooper : — 

"The peace of 1783 found the finances of the Govern- 
ment altogether unequal to the support of a navy. Most 
of the public cruisers had fallen into the hands of the 
enemy, or had been destroyed, and the few that remaine*d 
were sold. 

"The Alliance, which appears to have been a favorite 
ship of the service to the very last, was reluctantly parted 
with; but, a survey being held on her, she was disposed of, 
in preference to encountering the expense of repairs." 

The last mention I find of the venerable pioneer of the 
sea is the following : — 

In 1787, as an Indiaman, the Alliance frigate made a 
voyage to Canton, under the command of Captain Read, 
formerly of the navy. She still maintained her reputation 
for fast sailing, and was a pioneer to the last; for it will be 
remembered this was only two years after the opening of 
the China trade, she being perhaps the second or third 
ship of any size engaged in the traffic. My father used to 
speak of her in connection with the coffee-trade to Java, 
and with many other facts not to be found in print. 

There are few instances in the navies of the world of a 

5* 



54 HISTORY OP THE ALLIANCE. 

ship of war achieving so many battle triumphs, and accom 
plishing so many peaceable missions, as this our old-time 
warrior. But ships, like men, must yield to the wear and 
tear of time and action. 

Towards the close of her career she was frequently re- 
paired, and, being found at last unseaworthy, was condemned 
and broken up for her copper and iron, old junk, &c. The 
hulk was run up on Petty 's Island, where for many years 
it basked in the sunshine or braved the storm; and many 
a brave fellow, looking at the wreck, wiped away, perchance, 
a tear, with the sleeve of his coat, muttering to himself, 
u Perhaps that will be Jack's fate one of these days," and 
turning the quid in his mouth, with tl Well, she was pluck 
to the last; and here goes for another cruise." So saying, 
it may be, he lowered his tarpaulin to the Stars and Stripes, 
and became once more one of Uncle Sam's men. 

The Constitution frigate, the ship whose glorious record 
took up, as it were, in 1800, the link dropped in our chain 
of naval history in 1783, was saved from the fate of the 
Alliance by Dr. Oliver Wendell Holmes, whose poem 
of "Old Ironsides" caused our countrymen to pause, and 
reconsider their intention of breaking up the nation's 
favorite. This poem, one of the talented author's earliest 
productions, seems to me to be so apposite in this con- 
nection that I will take the liberty of making the verse 
speak for itself. 

©to Iransite, 

At, tear her tatter' d ensign down ! 

Long has it waved on high, 
And many an eye has danced to see 

That banner in the sky ; 



the Cumberland's flag-halliards. 55 

Beneath it rung the battle shout 

And burst the cannon's roar: 
The meteor of the ocean air 

Shall sweep the clouds no more. 

Her deck, once red with hero's blood, 

Where knelt the vanquish'd foe, 
When winds were hurrying o'er the flood 

And waves were white below, 
No more shall feel the victor's tread, 

Or know the conquer'd knee : 
The harpies of the shore shall pluck 

The eagle of the sea ! 

Oh, better that her shatter'd hulk 

Should sink beneath the wave ! — 
Her thunders shook the mighty deep, 

And there should be her grave. 
Nail to the mast her holy flag, 

Set every threadbare sail, 
And give her to the god of storms, 

The lightning, and the gale ! 



We now turn to an event whose sudden and astounding 
results caused the European rulers to pause in their survey 
of maps and charts, of diagrams, budgets, and estimates, 
the artisans and workmen to stand and listen while the 
iron cooled upon the anvil, and generals and admirals, 
bewildered and confounded, to see their former plans of 
strategy and their magazines of material vanishing into thin 
air. 

On a bright Sunday morning, in Chesapeake Bay, the 



56 the Cumberland's elag-halliards. 

roll of drums is heard, and cannon belch forth their 
thunders. Then a pause, followed by the jar of iron, the 
crashing of timbers, the rushing of waters, the shriek 
and the yell of drowning men, mingling with the rattle of 
musketry and the roar of tremendous guns ; and, behold ! 
the pride of our ship-yard, the stately Cumberland, flash- 
ing forth her defiant death-notes even beneath the surging 
billows, is slowly plunging through the waters of the bay to 
find a resting-place on the sandy bottom. 

But where is the rebel foe ? Dimly seen through the 
battle-shroud floats the iron monster, exulting in its new- 
born power, and seeking another victim. But now appears 
upon the scene an object whose dark and moving outlines 
are more inexplicable still. 

Swift as when the sword-fish strikes the huge leviathan 
of the deep, are its movements. Darting through the startled 
waters, it lunges its prow of iron against the armored sides 
of its wondering foe. Fires flash from out its bowels, bolts 
of steel hurtle in the air. The smoke rolls up, and, lo! 
the dark and wallowing monster whose grinding beak of 
polished metal had swept the walls of wood from its path- 
way, is now painfully toiling, wounded and disabled, towards 
the shelter of less dangerous waters. 

The iron Merrimac had met her match. Desperate craft 
had been met by deliberate art. Labor and science and 
mechanical skill triumphed, and laid their trophies at the 
feet of their guardians and protectors, — the enterprising 
spirits of the North, whose genius first encouraged and 
developed artistic invention and willing toil, and blazoned 
)n its banners the forge and the foundry, the lathe and 
the workshop. 

In the same hour, republican valor vindicated the honor 
and integrity of free institutions, and taught the Old World 



the Cumberland's flag-halliards. 57 

that North America had the nerve and the means, the 
science, the muscle and the, might, to maintain the position 
she has assumed as the standard-bearer of human progress 
on the Western Continent. 

The determined spirit of the defence made by the Cum- 
berland is fully illustrated in the following incident. 

As the ship careened, the waves poured through her 
shattered side, soon overflowing the deck. In this position, 
the men, knee-deep in water, fired the last broadside, which, 
as the guns were depressed by the position of the deck, 
poured out their shot beneath the gushing billows; while 
her brave defenders, their defiant shouts mingling with the 
sullen roar of the cannon, their old flag flying at the peak, 
sank to a glorious death, leaving to their traitorous foes 
a damning record, that shall flush the cheek of Bebellion's 
posterity with eternal shame. 

Such deeds are the embodiment of the nation's glory. 
This is the sublime spirit of noble enthusiasm and patriotic 
devotion which shuns no danger, counts no loss, but sternly 
and steadfastly faces the foe wherever found in attitude to 
strike 

The "Don't give up the ship!" of 1812 has found its 
echo, and now thunders forth, in these the ever-memorable 
days of the Republic. That legacy of our fathers, that 
same unflinching spirit, shines out in the obstinate and 
fiery courage of our soldiers and sailors in the present 
struggle against treason. The ever-to-be-United States of 
America may challenge the annals of the ancient and 
the modern past, to produce more soul-stirring examples of 
patriotic sacrifice at the shrine of national honor than 
these which our loyal defenders in the field have inscribed 
on the roll of fame. While the glorious achievements of 
Farragut, Dupont, Foote, Porter, and a host of other gallant 



58 the Cumberland's flag-halliards. 

spirits, tell in tones of thunder that American sailors will 
brook no attempt to tarnish our glory, or to tear one star 
"from the bright galaxy that floats at the mast-head of the 
good ship "The Union." Woe! woe! to the fratricidal 
traitors who are leagued against our flag ! Shame, eternal 
shame and discomfiture to all who encourage or protect 
them in their thrice-accursed treason ! The intent and mean- 
ing of the war the North is waging, is written in unmistak- 
able characters; and the sooner the rebels, and their aiders 
and abettors at home and their sympathizers abroad, read 
and learn, the sooner will the peace of America be restored 
and that of Europe secured. 



THREE ERAS. 59 



ftjjne fa. 



INSCRIBED TO PRESIDENT LINCOLN. 

BY THOMAS BUCHANAN READ. 

Some relics, consisting of a piece of Penn's "Treaty Elm," of the 
old frigate "Alliance," and the halliards of the sloop-of-war "Cumber- 
land," wrought into appropriate form, were presented to President Lin- 
coln by James E. Murdoch, Esq.; and this poem was written to accom- 
pany them. 



%\t tots €l\\t 



Ere to the honor'd patriot's mansion yonder 
These charm'd and emblematic relics pass, 
Upon the sacred fragments let me ponder, 
While Fancy, to the admiring eye of Wonder, 
Withdraws the veil, as in a magian's glass. 

I see the ''Treaty Elm," and hear the rustle 

Of autumn leaves, where come the dusky troops 
In painted robes and plumes, to crowd and jostle, — 
A savage scene, save that the peace-apostle 

Stands central, and controls the untamed groups. 

These are the boughs the forest eagle lit on, 

Long ere he perch'd upon our nation's banner ; 
Beneath their shade I see the gentle Briton, 
And hear the contract, binding, though unwritten, 
And worded in the plain old scriptural manner. 

Across the Delaware the sound comes -faintly, 

And fainter still across the tide of time, 
Though history yet repeats the language quaintly 
That fell from lips of Penn, the calm and saintly, 
Speaking of love, the only true sublime. 



60 THE ALLIANCE. 

This is his mission, and his sole vocation. 

To hear of this, the savage round him presses. 
How sweetly falls the beautiful oration 
Which bids them bear the marvellous revelation 

Of Christian peace through all their wildernesses 1 

Not to defraud them of their broad possessions 

He comes, or to control their eagle pinions, 
But to pledge friendship and its sweet relations, 
Truth and forbearance, gentleness and patience, 
To all the people of their wild dominions. 

"We meet," he said, "upon the open highway 

Of broad good will, and honest faith and duty. 
Let love fraternal brighten every by-way, 
And peace inviolate be thy way as my way, 
Till all the forest blossoms with new beauty." 

So spake their friend, and they revered his teaching. 

They said, "We will be true to thee and thine." 
And through long seasons toward their future reaching, 
No act was shown their plighted faith impeaching, 

Marring the compact, loving and divine. 

O thou, like noble Penn, who truth adorest, 

A priest at her great shrine in Freedom's temple, 
While o'er this gift in thoughtful mood thou porest, 
Point to the faithful children of the forest, 
And bid the nations learn from their example. 



%\t JUUiant*. 

Here is an oaken relic from a bark 

That speaks of olden scenes and ocean mystery, — 
An anchor from the Revolution ark, 
Dropt to the present through the twilight dark, 

Linking the troubled periods of our history. 



THE ALLIANCE. 61 

It may be that the sapling of this wood, 

Crown'd on the coast with vines inviting inland 

Was swaying to the sea-wind's fitful mood, 

Learning the rocking motion of the flood, 

When roving Norsemen stood agaze at Vinland. 

Or did it feel the westward-sweeping gale — 

The wind that still of God and freedom hymneth — 
Which landward drove the saintly hero's sail, 
Until the sea-toss'd pilgrims, worn and pale, 
Were landed on the icy rock of Plymouth ? 

Where'er it grew, the woodman found the oak, 
It knew the teamster and the hewer's trestle, 
It felt the hammers, snuflPd the pitchy smoke, 
Then seaward, like a steed from stall, it broke, 

While Salisbury hail'd her favourite warrior vessel. 

Those were the days wherein we flung defiance 
Unto a tyrant monarch and his henchmen. 

We ask'd for friendship, France gave her compliance ; 

And hence we call'd our vessel the Alliance, 
In honor of the noble-hearted Frenchmen. 

Then France was generous France : her well-earned fame 
Shed round the world a lustre of pure glory. 

No Italy breathed curses on her name, 

No Mexico stood pointing at her shame 
With feeble fingers, desperate and gory. 

The royal vessel sought her future realm, — 
Royal, because her parent oak was regal ; 
And sceptred Science shaped her prow and helm, 
And crowned Courage, naught could overwhelm, 
Breathed in the bosom of that fierce sea-eagle. 

The ocean cormorants fled before her path. 
Her wing, descried afar, was fearful omen ; 
6 



THE ALLIANCE. 

Full oft her desolating vengeance hath, 
In the great tempest of her iron wrath, 

Sent a wild shudder through the hearts of foemen. 

Hers was the enviable pride to bear 

The unselfish hero's well-beloved exemplar, 
A Paladin whose heart was full of prayer 
For freedom's Palestine — his soul was there. 
' Forever honor' d be the good knight-templar. 

Gratitude, forget not the ovations 

Due to a noble" country's nobler scion. 
Let Lafayette, before the gaze of nations, 
Stand canonized amidst our constellations, 

Belted with starry fame, like brave Orion. 

Old Europe's waters bore her graceful keel, 

And heard the rolling of her threatening thunder ; 
She taught the insolent buccaneer to kneel 
And sue for quarter, — taught their homes to feel 
A mingled sense of due respect and wonder. 

Though she a while the doubtful Landais bore, 

It was her glorious privilege to carry 
The pennant of Paul Jones, the Commodore, 
The pride and terror of the sea and shore, 

And his, the hardy and intrepid Barry. 

And when the war was o'er, she laid aside 
The latest vestige of the past commotion, 
And to the winds of Commerce, far and wide, 
Shook out her sails for other realms untried, 

And brought home treasure from the farthest ocean. 

There have been doubtful Landais' on our deck, — 

The deck of state, — that wellnigh brought disaster ! 
But thou, obedient to a nation's beck, 
Didst save the flag-ship of the world from wreck, 
noble patriot and unswerving master! 



the Cumberland's halliards. 63 

And still thou rul'st this stormy deck of state, 

With all your sea-worn councillors in communion, 
Still, with your mann'd and well-tried guns in wait, 
Stand by your charge, Captain, calm and great, 
Beneath the steadfast banner of the Union ! 

And when the Southern buccaneer at last 

Shall strike her colors, saying, "It is over," 
Lash on the prize and raise her jury-mast, 
Stop all her leaks, make all her rigging fast, 
And bring her homeward, a repentant rover. 

And when anon our battle-flag is furl'd, 

If that no insolent gauntlet lies before us, 
By dastard in the hour of danger hurl'd, 
Then let our ship of commerce sweep the world, 
Her deck made musical with Freedom's chorus. 

\t fiece at f iillto tam % Jftog 0f % ta- 
berltfto. 

This simple cord, by unknown fingers spun, 

Holds history in every slender fibre, — 
Telling more baseness in one action done, 
And of more heroism, than the sun 

E'er saw upon the storied tide of Tiber. 

A shred from off the halliards of our hope, 
Our battle-banner, seldom lower'd or baffled ! 

Did he who twined the fellow to that rope 

Behold, in his imaginary scope, 

The trembling traitor on his well-earn'd scaffold ? 

He should have seen, methinks, the dance of death, 

The traitors' dance in this rebellious season, 
While the gaunt wizards on the Southern heath, 
Like the foul hags encounter'd by Macbeth, 

With hell-born charm and chant are brewing treason. 



64 THE ATTACK. 

fierce maledictions, breathed with desperate might 

By trodden nations, longing to be freemen, 
Shall fall upon them with the withering blight 
Of leprous pestilence that walks at night, 

Till their own hearts shall curse their reigning demon. 



% $ttack. 

In Hampton Roads, the airs of March were bland, 

Peace on the deck and in the fortress sleeping, 
Till in the look-out of the Cumberland, 
The sailor, with his well-poised glass in hand, 
Descried the iron island downward creeping. 

A sudden wonder seized on land and bay, 

And Tumult with her train was there to follow, 

For still the stranger kept its seaward way, 

Looking a great leviathan blowing spray, 

Seeking with steady course his ocean wallow. 

And still it came, and largen'd on the sight,— 
A floating monster, — ugly and gigantic, — 

In shape a wave, with long and shelving height, 

As if a mighty billow, heaved at night, 
Should turn to iron in the mid- Atlantic. 

Then ship and fortress gazed with anxious stare, 
Until the Cumberland's cannon, silence breaking, 

Thunder'd its guardian challenge, "Who comes there?" 

But, like a rock-flung echo in the air, 

The shot rebounded, no impression making. 

Then roar'd a broadside: — though directed well, 

On, like a nightmare, moved the shape defiant! 
The tempest of our pounding shot and shell, 
Crumbled to harmless nothing, thickly fell 
From off the sounding armor of the giant ! 



THE APOSTROPHE. 65 

Unchecked, still onward through the storm it broke, 

With beak directed at the vessel's centre, — 
Then through the constant cloud of sulphurous smoke 
Drove, till it struck the warrior's wall of oak, 
Making a gateway for the waves to enter. 

Struck, and, to note the mischief done, withdrew, 
And then, with all a murderer's impatience, 

Kush'd on again, crushing her ribs anew, 

Cleaving the noble hull wellnigh in two. 
And on it sped its fiery imprecations. 

Swift through the vessel swept the drowning swell, 
With splash and rush and gulfy rise appalling, 

While sinking cannon rung their own loud knell. 

Then cried the traitor from his sulphurous cell, 

" Do you surrender?" Oh, those words were galling! 

How spake our captain to his comrades then? 

It was a shout from out a soul of splendor, 
Echoed from lofty maintop, and again 
Between-decks, from the lips of dying men, 

"Sink, sink, boys, sink! but never say surrender!" 

Down went the ship ! Down — down — but never down 

Her sacred flag to insolent dictator ! 
Weep for the patriot heroes doom'd to drown ! 
Pledge to the sunken Cumberland's renown ! 

She sunk — thank God ! — unsoil'd "by foot of traitor ! 



%\t $pstr0$*. 



Great ruler, these are simple gifts to bring thee,- 
Thee, — doubly great, the land's embodied will ; 

And simpler still the song I fain would sing thee; 

In higher towers let greater poets ring thee 
Heroic chimes on Fame's immortal hill. 
6* 



66 THE APOSTROPHE. 

A decade of the years its flight has taken, 

Since I beheld and pictured with my pen 
How yet the land on ruin's brink might waken 
To find her temples rudely seized and shaken 
By traitorous demons in the forms of men. 

And I foresaw thy coming, — even pointed 
The region where the day would find its man 

To reconstruct what treason had disjointed. 

I saw thy brow by Honesty anointed, 

While Wisdom taught thee all her noblest plan. 

Thy natal stars by angels' hands suspended, 

A holy trine, where Faith, and Hope, and Love,- 
By these celestial guides art thou attended, 
Shedding perpetual lustre, calm and splendid, 
Around thy path wherever thou dost move. 

No earthly lore of any art or science 

Can fill the places of these heavenly three ; 
Faith gives thy soul serene and fix'd reliance ; — 
Hope to the darkest trial bids defiance ; — 
Love tempers all with her sublime decree. 

'Tis fitting, then, these relics full of story, 
Telling ancestral tales of land and sea, — 
Each fragment a sublime memento mori 
Of heroes mantled in immortal glory, — 

Should be consign'd, great patriot, unto thee. 



MR. BOKER AS A DRAMATIC POET. 67 

Ur. Sate n a gramatic $mI 

(Extract from Mr. Murdoch's Lectures.) 

The naval conflict below New Orleans — a conflict with- 
out a parallel in the world's history — has been graphically 
sketched by Mr. George H. Boker, of Philadelphia, — a 
writer who, until the rebellion broke out, had devoted 
himself entirely to dramatic and contemplative poetry, 
but who, when our flag was assailed, threw off his indif- 
ference to national subjects, and from that time to the 
present has been one of the most enthusiastic poets of the 
war. Mr. Boker's productions, in all the forms of verse, 
are marked by distinguished ability, which has been fully 
acknowledged by the best critics both in Europe and Ame- 
rica. His dramas have met with decided success on the 
stage, his "Calaynos" having passed the ordeal of London 
criticism, and occupied the stage of one of the leading 
theatres in that city for sixty consecutive nights, Mr. Phelps, 
the acknowledged rival of Macready, performing the prin- 
cipal character. It affords me pleasure to say, here, that, 
among several original characters which I have introduced to 
American audiences, " Calaynos" stands foremost in the 
list, both in the gratification that its study and performance 
have afforded me, and in the remunerative applause and 
treasurer's returns of its audiences, in all the principal 
cities of the West (my favorite field of labor), and also in 
my native place, Philadelphia, having acted it in that city 
over fifty nights. 

Apart from a consideration of his versification, one of 
the most striking features of Mr. Boker's poetry is the 
naturalness of his dramatic combination and progress. His 



68 MR. BOKER AS A DRAMATIC POET. 

argument is introduced, as it were, with a chord, but with- 
out further prelude; the action begins at once, and we 
follow, as the urchin follows the drum, not for the per- 
former, but for the music : his feet keep time to the beat, 
distance and hours having no measure for eye or sense. 
So with Mr. Boker's ballads : his characters speak and 
act for a purpose, and that is to illustrate the story and 
express the sentiment. Hence we follow the music, 
realizing the poetic idea so feelingly and entirely that the 
imagination triumphs over the colder elements of our nature, 
and we are filled with that essence to which the fairy-crea- 
tion owes its origin, and at last we awake from our dream 
of enjoyment to find that we have been feasting on fancies, 
brief but beautiful. This is the effect produced on the 
plastic mind by true art in dramatic action. The imagery 
and form of expression, however elevated or grand, 
becomes, by the proper exercise of true talent, so natural 
and unobtrusive that it fits the person it is intended 
to illustrate as a garment, while situation and surround- 
ings are toned into the general coloring of life. Nothing 
is suffered to offend the eye as unnatural in form, nor any 
thing so exaggerated permitted in action as to repel sense 
or outrage the proprieties of probability or reason. To 
possess intuitively, and to employ feelingly and fearlessly, 
this perceptive sense of the true in nature, as well as the 
beautiful in art, is to be a dramatist. This faculty of 
story-telling and of mental portrait-painting, whose pro- 
ductions require neither preface nor catalogue for the 
reader's or hearer's enlightenment, is the perfection of the 
"art which conceals art," and is the foundation that under- 
lies the whole dramatic structure, and, when combined 
with the wealth of ideal and intellectual beauty, is the 
sum and substance of dramatic power. 



THE BALLAD OF NEW ORLEANS. 69 

Ballad verse, in its effects on the emotional system, comes 
nearer dramatic force than either the epic or the lyric, 
because it is the true vehicle of narrative. It seems to be 
the natural offspring of the Thespian monologue. What 
that ancient exhibition of poetry was to the classic drama, 
ballads were to the sublime and heroic verse of Shakspeare, 
Milton, and Byron. It is a combination of the minstrePs 
song and legend, and the harper's chanted narrative to 
which he tuned the chords of his harp, when the deeds of 
chivalry and the devotion of the lover arose above the 
hum of the banquet or the din of assembled warriors. 
Mr. Boker's ballads are dramas in action and character; 
he tells a story clearly and well ; he clothes his personages 
in fitting garb, and causes them to move gracefully and 
grandly to the measure of his verse. 

Having proved his capability to accomplish dramatic 
success, he brings thereby to his narrative poems a power 
and a grace which enable him, through their instrument- 
ality, to impart the glow and fervor of chivalric homage 
and eulogy of the olden time to the heroic circumstance 
and incident of this less romantic age. 



pM at ghto ©rlOT, 

Just as the hour was darkest, 
Just between night and day, 

From the flag-ship shone the signal, 
" Get the squadrons under way." 

Not a sound but the tramp of sailors, 
And the wheeling capstan's creak, 

Arose from the busy vessels 
As the anchors came apeak. 



70 THE BALLAD OF NEW ORLEANS. 

The men work'd on in silence, 
With never a shout or cheer, 

Till 'twas whisper'd from bow to quarter, 
"Start forward ! All is clear." 

Then groan'd the ponderous engines, 
Then flounder'd the whirling screw ; 

And, as ship join'd ship, the comrades 
Their lines of battle drew. 

The moon through the fog was casting 

A blur of lurid light, 
As the captain's latest order 

Was flash'd into the night :— 

"Steam on! and, whatever fortune 

May follow the attack, 
Sink with your bows all northward : 

No vessel must turn back." 

It was hard, when we heard that order, 
To smother a rising shout ; 

For it waken'd the life within us, 
And we burn'd to give it out. 

All wrapp'd in the foggy darkness, 
Brave Bailey moved ahead ; 

And stem after stern his gunboats 
To the starboard station led. 

Next Farragut's stately flag-ship 
To port her head inclined ; 

And midmost, and most in danger, 
BelPs squadron closed behind. 

Ah ! many a prayer was murmur'd 
For the homes we ne'er might see ; 



THE BALLAD OP NEW ORLEANS. 71 

And the silence and night grew dreadful 
With the thought of what must be. 

For many a tall, stout fellow 

Who stood at his quarters then, 
In the damp and dismal moonlight, 

Never saw the sun again. 

Close dWn by the yellow river, 

In their oozy graves they rot ; 
Strange vines and strange flowers grow o'er them, 

And their far homes know them not. 

But short was our time of musing ; 

For the rebel forts discern'd 
That the whole great fleet was moving, 

And their batteries on us turn'd. 

Then Porter burst out from his mortars, 

In jets of fiery spray, 
As if a volcano had open'd 

Where his leaf-clad vessels lay. 

Howling, and screeching, and whizzing, 

The bomb-shells arch'd on high, 
And then, like gigantic meteors, 

Dropp'd swiftly from the sky, — 

Dropp'd down on the low, doom'd fortress 

A plague of iron death, 
Shattering earth and granite to atoms 

With their puffs of sulphurous breath. 

The whole air quaked and shudder' d 

As the great globes rose and fell, 
And the blazing shores look'd awful 

As the open gates of hell. 



72 THE BALLAD OF NEW ORLEANS. 

Fort Jackson and Fort St. Philip, 
And the battery on the right, 

By this time were flashing and thundering 
Out into the murky night. 

Through the hulks and the cables, sunder'd 

By the bold Itasca's crew, 
Went Bailey in silence, though round him 

The shells and the grape-shot flew. 

No answer he made to their welcome, 

Till abeam St. Philip bore ; 
Then, oh 1 but he sent them a greeting 

In his broadsides' steady roar I 

Meanwhile, the old man in the Hartford 
Had ranged to Fort Jackson's side : 

What a sight ! he slow'd his engines 
Till he barely stemmed the tide. 

Yes, paused in that deadly tornado 
Of case-shot and shell and ball, 

Not a cable's length from the fortress, 
And he lay there, wood to wall 1 

Have you any notion, you landsmen, 
Who have seen a field-fight won, 

Of canister, grape-shot, and shrapnel 
Hurl'd out from a ten-inch gun ? 

I tell you, the air is nigh solid 
With the howling iron flight ; 

And 'twas such a tempest blew o'er ua 
Where the Hartford lay that night. 

Perch'd aloft in the forward rigging, 
With his restless eyes aglow, 



THE BALLAD OP NEW ORLEANS. 73 

Sat Farragut, shouting his orders 
To the men who fought below. 

And the fort's huge faces of granite 

Were splinter' d and rent in twain, 
And the masses seemed slowly melting, 

Like snow in a torrid rain. 

Now quicker and quicker we fired, 

Till between us and the foe 
A torrent of blazing vapor 

Was leaping to and fro ; 

While the fort, like a mighty cauldron, 

Was boiling with flame and smoke, 
And the stone flew aloft in fragments, 

And the brick into powder broke. 

So thick fell the clouds o'er the river, 

You could hardly see your hand, 
When we heard from the foremast rigging 

Old Farragut' s sharp command : 

" Full head ! Steam across to St. Philip ! 

Starboard battery, mind your aim ! 
Forecastle, there, shift your pivots ! Now 

Give them a taste of the same \" 

St. Philip grew faint in replying, 

Its voice of thunder was drown'd. 
"But, ha ! what is this ? Back the engines ! 

Back, back ! The ship is aground !" 

And down the swift current came sweeping 

A raft spouting sparks and flame ; 
Push'd on by an iron-clad rebel, 

Under our port side it came. 
7 



74 THE BALLAD OP NEW ORLEANS. 

At once the good Hartford was blazing, 

Below, aloft, fore and aft. 
" We are lost !" " No, no 

Away whirPd'the crackling raft. 

The fire was soon quench'd. One last broadside 

We gave to the surly fort ; 
For above us the rebel gunboats 

Were wheeling like devils at sport. 

And into our vacant station 

Had glided a bulky form : 
'Twas Craven's stout Brooklyn, demanding 

Her share of the furious storm. 

We could hear the shot of St. Philip 

Ring on her armor of chain, 
And the crash of her answering broadsides 

Taking and giving again. 

We could hear the low growl of Craven, 
And Lowry's voice, clear and calm, 

While they swept off the rebel ramparts 
As clean as your open palm. 

Then, ranging close under our quarter, 

Out burst from the smoky fogs 
The queen of the waves, the Varuna, 

The ship of bold Charley Boggs. 

He waved his blue cap as he passed us ; 
• The blood of his glorious race, 
Of Lawrence the hero, was burning 
Once more in a living face. 

Right and left flashed his heavy broadsides ; 
Rams, gunboats, — it matter'd not ; 



THE BALLAD OP NEW ORLEANS. 75 

Wherever a rebel flag floated 
Was a target for his shot. • 

All burning and sinking around him 

Lay five of the foe ; but he, 
The victor, seem'd doom'd with the vanquish'd, 

When along dash'd gallant Lee. 

And he took up the bloody conflict, 

And so well his part he bore, - 
That the river ran fire behind him, 

And glimmer' d from shore to shore. 

But while powder would burn in a cannon, 

Till the water drown'd his deck, 
Boggs pounded away with his pivots 

From his slowly-settling wreck. 

I think our old captains in heaven, 

As they look'd upon those deeds, 
Were proud of the flower of that navy 

Of which they planted the seeds. 

Paul Jones, the knight-errant of ocean, 

Decatur, the lord of the seas, 
Hull, Lawrence, and Bainbridge, and Biddle, 

And Perry, the peer of all these. 

If Porter beheld his descendant 

With some human pride on his lip, 
I trust, through the mercy of Heaven, 

His soul was forgiven that slip. 

And thou, living veteran, " Old Ironsides," 

The last of the splendid line, 
Thou link 'twixt the old and new glory, 

I know what feelings were thine. 



76 THE BALLAD OP NEW ORLEANS. 

When the sun look'd over the tree-tops, 

We found ourselves — Heaven knows how — 

Above the grim forts ; and that instant 
A smoke broke from Farragut's bow ; 

And over the river came floating 

The sound of the morning gun, 
And the Stars and Stripes danced up the halliards, 

And glitter'd against the sun. 

Oh ! then what a shout from the squadrons, 
As flag follow'd flag, till the day 
• Was bright with the beautiful standard, 
And wild with the victors' huzza ! 

But three ships were missing ; the others 
Had pass'd through that current of flame ; 

And each scar on their shatter'd bulwarks 
Was touch'd by the finger of Fame. 

Below us the forts of the rebels 

Lay in the trance of despair ; 
Above us, uncover'd and helpless, 

New Orleans clouded the air. 

Again in long lines we went steaming 
Away towards the city's smoke ; 
• And works were deserted before us, 
And columns of soldiers broke. 

In vain the town clamor'd and struggled, 
The flag at our peak ruled the hour ; 

And under its shade, like a lion, 

Were resting the will and the power. 



COMING EVENTS CAST THEIR SHADOWS BEFORE. 77 

• Cmting (Stents mt %ir S|ate tata. 

. (Extract prom Mr. Murdoch's Lectures.) 

The truly national lyric of "The Union/' written by 
Jrancis De Haes Janvier, was first read by me in Cin- 
cinnati at the anniversary celebration of a well-known 
literary institution in that city. This was before the in- 
surgents had struck the blow which left no doubt, if any 
had before existed in the minds of the people, of the 
hellish intentions of our "wayward sisters." I suggested 
the reading of this poem on the occasion, and referred it to 
the committee. Some of the members objected, not on the 
ground of impropriety of sentiment, but of inopportunity 
of occasion. The institution, it was argued, was not of 
a political but of a literary character, and therefore it was 
not expedient for it to put forth such strong sentiments at 
a time in which every thing should be left to the influence 
of conciliation and compromise. On the other hand, it was 
decided that the sentiment was noble and just; and as the 
question before the American people was not one of 
politics, but of right and wrong, there was no good reason 
to object to the assertion of right at any time and any- 
where. .The poem was read to at least two thousand people; 
and I can safely say that never before or since were my 
ears greeted with more hearty and rapturous applause than 
that which burst forth from an audience composed of the 
citizens of as loyal a city as the loyal States contain. 

Mr. Janvier had the words set to music and printed on 
a neat enamelled card, and distributed gratuitously to the 
soldiers and friends of the Army of the Potomac in Wash- 
ington, in the camps and the hospitals. Many and many a 

7* 



78 COMING! EVENTS CAST THEIR SHADOWS BEFORE. 

brave fellow, perchance, cheered the march to "Bull's Run," 
chanting the inspiring words of this song, and, it may be, 
died with its burden faintly but fervently breathed with 
his parting breath. All honor to such poets as Mr. Jan- 
vier, and to all who have, like him, devoted time and talents 
without stint to cheer and sustain the brave and devoted 
soldiers of the Republic, from the very hour in which the 
flag was first unfurled to the breeze in defiance to traitors, 
— the old flag of thirty-four stars, which, under the pro- 
vidence of G-od, shall yet wave in triumph over every 
State represented on its azure field, in spite of the desperate 
valor of the misguided men who must fall beneath the 
mighty power invoked by justice and legitimate authority 
to punish or to crush them. I will pause here to include the 
names of Mr. Janvier's friends and fellow-poets, Mr. Boker 
and Mr. Read, whose generous efforts in the same holy 
cause have won for them the meed of praise and honor 
due to patriotic acts and deeds. These gentlemen, I am 
proud to say, are all citizens of Philadelphia. 

In lauding the patriotic efforts of the above-named 
gentlemen, I do not wish to be understood as speaking as 
one having authority in literary matters, and more espe- 
cially in the poetic form, but simply as desiring to impress 
upon the public mind the extent and value of the services 
rendered to the "good cause" by the many and glorious 
lines they have written and placed at my disposal, so nobly 
calculated to keep alive the. public interest in the labors I 
am engaged in, and to swell the current of generous and 
loyal sympathy in favor of the brave men who have left 
their homes and firesides to fight the battles of the nation. 



THE UNION. 79 

A NATIONAL SONG. 

BY FRANCIS 1)E HAES JANVIER. • 

" Liberty and Union, now and forever, one and inseparable \" — Webster. 

The Union ! The Union ! The hope of the free ! 

Howsoe'er we may differ, in this we agree: — 

Our glorious banner no traitor shall mar, 

By effacing a stripe, or destroying a star ! 

Division ! No, never ! The Union forever ! 

And cursed be the hand that our country would sever ! 

The Union! The Union! ; Twas purchased with blood! 

Side by side, to secure it, our forefathers stood : — 

From the North to the South, through the length of the land 

Ran the war-cry which summon'd that patriot band ! 

Division ! No, never ! The Union forever ! 

And cursed be the hand that our country would sever ! 

The Union ! The Union ! At Lexington first, 

Through the clouds of oppression, its radiance burst : — 

But at Yorktown roll'd back the last vapory crest, 

And, a bright constellation, it blazed in the West! 

Division ! No, never ! The Union forever ! 

And cursed be the hand that our country would sever ! 

The Union ! The Union ! Its heavenly light 

Cheers the hearts of the nations who grope in the night, — 

And, athwart the wide ocean, falls, gilding the tides, 

A path to the country where Freedom abides ! 

Division I No, never ! The Union forever ! 

And cursed be the hand that our country would sever ! 



80 THE POWER OF MUSIC AND VERSE. 

The Union ! The Union ! In God we repose ! 

We confide in the power that vanquished our foes ! 

The God of our fathers, — oh, still may He be 

The strength of the Union, the hope of the free ! 

Division ! No, never ! The Union forever ! 

And cursed be the hand that our country would sever ! 



% $flto*r at Dtosic aifo Vmt m giteitattts to 
fator, 

(Extract from Mr. Murdoch's Lectures.) 

During my association with the Army of the Cumberland, 
in Kentucky, and while I was suffering from a severe attack 
of neuralgia, I was compelled to exchange the saddle for an 
ambulance, in which I had the good fortune to make the 
acquaintance of Colonel Bumford, of the regular army, 
who had been severely wounded at the battle of Chaplin 
Hills, Kentucky. I, being the least afflicted, waited on 
him, and endeavored to while away the time for him by 
reading and reciting. 

I remember one evening, several officers being present, 
in our quarters, I was asked to recite Mr. Read's war 
lyric of " Our Defenders." I complied j and as I turned 
in conclusion to the cot where the colonel lay, with his 
pale face and bright eyes turned towards me, he said, 
" Oh, Mr. Murdoch, if our brave fellows could only hear 
words like those on the eve of battle, how it would thrill 
their hearts and nerve their arms V 

He then related an incident of a charge made upon his 
regiment, in Mexico, in which the enemy came down upon 



THE POWER OF MUSIC AND VERSE. 81 

them with a kind of fierce chant, in which the words 
" God, Santa Anna, and Liberty !" were the burden. The 
effect was exciting and grand in the extreme. 

"Even our own soldiers," said he, "caught the enthu- 
siasm, and fought with more determined valor, routing the 
enemy and driving him before them." 

Here, then, was a practical realization of the idea I have 
endeavored to develop and enforce in my patriotic read- 
ings and recitations. Let our poets continue to wreathe 
around the national banner the ideal beauty of heroism 
and self-sacrifice \ let them paint, in words of fire, those 
glorious sentiments which were promulgated and fought 
for in 1776, contended for anew in 1812, and which 
aroused the patriotic enthusiasm of the nation, sweeping 
through the length and breadth of the loyal States, in 
1861. Let music add its magic force to swell the mighty 
theme. Let our soldiers learn to chant and sing such 
glorious strains : then would their feet forget their weari- 
ness, their hearts swell with renewed fervor, and their 
arms be nerved with tenfold vigor to strike in defence 
of government, laws, religious toleration, and universal 
freedom. 

" Our Defenders" was written by Mr. Read, in the city of 
Rome, while there engaged in painting historical pictures 
for some of our art-loving citizens. 

It was first recited by him at a dinner given by our 
minister, Mr. Cass, in Rome, on the Fourth of July fol- 
lowing the attack on Sumter. 

Mr. Read returned to this country in the following June; 
since which he has served as aid and secretary to one of 
our distinguished major-generals, and may yet be able to 
take part in a battle and afterwards describe it, as did 



82 OUR DEFENDERS. 

Euripides, who, after leading the Grecian forces at Salamis, 
wrote the tragedy of " The Persians," in which he immortal- 
ized the heroic valor of the soldiers of that great republic. 



BY T. BUCHANAN READ. 

Our flag on the land and our flag on the ocean, 

An angel of peace wheresoever it goes : 
Nobly sustain'd by Columbia's devotion, 
The angel of death it shall be to our foes ! 

True to its native sky 

Still shall our eagle fly, 
Casting his sentinel glances afar ; 

Though bearing the olive-branch, 

Still in his talons staunch 
Grasping the bolts of the thunders of war ! 

Hark to the sound ! There's a foe on our border, — 

A foe striding on to the gulf of his doom ; 
Freemen are rising and marching in order, 
Leaving the plough and the anvil and loom. 

Rust dims the harvest-sheen 

Of scythe and of sickle keen ; 
The axe sleeps in peace by the tree it would mar ; 

Veteran and youth are out, 

Swelling the battle-shout, 
Grasping the bolts of the thunders of war ! 

Our brave mountain eagles swoop from their eyrie, 

Our lithe panthers leap from forest and plain ; 
Out of the West flash the flames of the prairie, 
Out of the East roll the waves of the main. 
Down from their Northern shores, 
Swift as Niagara pours, 



POETRY AND PAINTING AS KINDRED ARTS- 83 

They march, and their tread wakes the earth with its jar ; 

Under the Stripes and Stars, 

Each, with the soul of Mars, 
Grasping the bolts of the thunders of war ! 

Spite of the sword or assassin's stiletto, 

While throbs a heart in the breast of the brave, 
The oak of the North, or the Southern palmetto, 
Shall shelter no foe except in the grave ! 

While the Gulf billow breaks, 

Echoing the Northern lakes, 
And ocean replies unto ocean afar, 

Yield we no inch of land 

While there's a patriot hand 
Grasping the bolts of the thunders of war 1 



| mtx% attir fainting u Jlintoi JMl 

I will here take occasion, in connection with the sub- 
ject of Mr. Read's patriotic services, which have been 
many and important during the rebellion, to thank him, 
as well as his brother poets, for the generous aid so freely 
tendered me, and by which I have been enabled to keep 
alive the public interest in my readings and lectures. 

Especially am I indebted to Mr. Read for the use of his 
noble and patriotic poem, " The Wagoner of the Alle- 
ghanies;" the manuscript of which he placed at my dis- 
posal in 1862, with the exclusive privilege of employing 
it in my " patriotic readings" for a period of not less than 
one year, — in the mean time foregoing the right to publish 
it, although offers of considerable pecuniary importance had 



84 POETRY AND PAINTING AS KINDRED ARTS. 

been made to him to induce him to give his poem to the 
public at an earlier period. 

It was a just and grateful tribute to the sacred Union 
cemented by the blood of the fathers of 1776, to dedicate 
a work commemorative of their virtues and sacrifices to 
their heroic sons, who were fighting to defend the glorious 
legacy bequeathed to them by their sires. 

The following is a beautiful tribute to Mr. Read's professional abili- 
ties. The language breathes the spirit of one fully alive to the im- 
pressions of poetry, as well as to the generous sympathy of friendship 
and kindred associations; and, judging from our knowledge of Mr. 
Murdoch's early professional experience, we should say that his friend's 
career is as dear to him as his own. This will account for the enthu- 
siasm and warmth of eulogy expressed in the article. — Editor's Note. 

(Extract from Mr. Murdoch's Lectures.) 

A poet and a painter ! The qualifications which accom- 
plish distinction in either profession are possessed by few 
persons. Therefore, to attain to excellence in both is a 
rare achievement. Poetry and painting, these sister arts, 
are wedded to ideal passion and sublimity. They are the 
handmaids to the Loves and the Graces, and they are the 
recording spirits of history and fame. 

The painter seizes upon all that is lovely, simple, and 
grand in nature, of form and color, transferring it to his 
canvas to charm the eye and delight the mind. He re- 
produces the rainbow hues, the mellowing tints, and sombre 
shades, which compose the grandeur and simplicity of earth 
and air, of sunshine and storm ; and humanity owes to his 
pencil the pictured lineaments of heroes and martyrs desig- 
nated by the finger of Fame for the admiration and emula- 
tion of man's latest posterity. 

The poet, filled with'that divine essence which pervades 



POETRY AND PAINTING AS KINDRED ARTS. 85 

and breathes through all the glorious works of creation, 
mental or physical, raises his voice in notes tuned to the 
music of the stars when they sang in the fulness of per- 
fected glory, and calls on all his fellow-mortals to listen 
and be glad. His song warms the heart with the genial 
glow of imagination and fancy, causing it to throb in unison 
with heroic deeds and virtuous actions. To perfect his 
mastery over these attributes of the " lyre and the palette," 
by the exercise of his genius, has been the aim and ambi- 
tion of a man glorying in the proud title of an American 
citizen, and honored by his loyal countrymen as an un- 
swerving patriot and a distinguished artist. 

Thomas Buchanan Read has attained to the honors of 
both poetry and painting in a high degree. In boyhood a 
dreamer and a wanderer, he sought the far West (or 
what was the far West a quarter of a century since), to 
find amidst the excitement of artistic labor that knowledge 
of the world which comes to men so often through the 
channels of privation and suffering. 

Toiling for daily bread amid the wrangle and the strife 
of the jostling crowd, or revelling in the bliss and beauty 
of nature, with no care for the present, wholly absorbed 
in that wealth of pleasure possessed by the youthful mind, 
that knows " no such word as fail," writing sonnets to ideal 
loveliness, and " making faces" practically, were the employ- 
ments of the future man. His pleasures in relaxation were 
sought, angle and line in hand, beneath the scorching sun 
by a meadow brook, or lounging with pen and pencil in 
the moist shade of some primeval forest, where tangled 
undergrowth and exuberant foliage served to temper the 
heat of the day and invite man to communion with the 
spirit and beauty of the Maker's works. 

There is not, perhaps, a living artist in either department 
8 



86 POETRY AND PAINTING AS KINDRED ARTS. 

in which Mr. Read shines so conspicuously who is so 
entirely and exclusively an offspring of natural growth and 
culture as is the subject of these remarks. If they could 
sit and listen, as I have done in my log cabin in the West 
(till " Chanticleer has piped his challenge to the morn"), to 
the fervent and eloquent pouring out of a nature " steeped 
to the very lips" in poetic and pictured gifts, his readers 
would know how little Mr. Read has placed on record — 
although his published works are not inconsiderable — " of 
that world of wealth" in the spiritual, the fanciful, and 
the beautiful, by which his nature. is etherealized and com- 
pacted. The wonderfully exuberant ancf gorgeous fancy 
of Shelley, the romantic and chivalric spirit and the national 
pride of Scott, and the sweetness and simplicity of Burns, 
all blend and breathe in gentle sympathy in the inner life 
and soul of the painter-poet, — of whom I have heard a 
giant in American literature say, "His poetry is the 
embodiment of nature's fanciful creation, of the exquisitely 
bright and the delicately beautiful, as expressed in the loves 
of the fairies and the poetry of the stars, in maiden purity 
and youthful heroism. His pictures are poems, and his 
poems are pictures." 

Mr. Read has not been overwhelmed with a superabun- 
dance of impartial and generous notices from the public 
press, in certain localities j and yet critical endorsement of 
the highest and best authority has not been wanting, in 
both hemispheres, to make good his title to the rank he 
holds in the estimation of his admirers as one of America's 
most gifted poets and distinguished painters. The artist 
who as a boy, from pure love of art, donned the staff, the 
scallop-shell, and sandal shoon of the true disciple will 
not be likely to weary in his pilgrimage ; but, if I mistake 



VICTORY DOES NOT ALWAYS REWARD VALOR. 87 

not the spirit of the man, he will ever be found bearing 
aloft the banner of his boyhood's love and ambition, 
" Excelsior I" 



JMttorj ta not atags wtoarfo Max. 

(Extract prom Mr. Murdoch's Lectures.) 

I shall never forget the pleasure with which I read Mr. 
Boker's poem commemorating the crossing of the Rappa- 
hannock by our brave troops under the gallant Burnside. 

The soul of the true poet, burning with sympathy for 
heroism, romance, and chivalry, glowing with the rose- 
colored tints of hope and faith, poured forth all its fresh- 
ness and beauty to honor the brave men who were seeking 
to achieve, not "the bubble reputation," but the glory and 
honor of their "country's cause," "in the cannon's mouth." 
Mr. Boker, with a generous and hopeful spirit, has caused 
his muse to sing the praises not only of those who have 
" won the battle for the free," but of those also who have 
valiantly fought the fight, trusting in the strength of the 
" God of Battles" to turn the tide of war in their favor. 
It was this noble impulse which prompted him to sing 
"Hooker's Across!" not waiting to know the result of the 
expedition. 

And is not this the province of the poet's art, — to arouse, 
encourage, and sustain the warrior who draws his sword 
and couches his lance for justice and truth whenever the 
herald's trump proclaims the conflict? To win a battle is 
his glory j but to do or die, contending for the victory, is 
his honor and duty. True to his glorious mission, Mr. 
Boker (not in the vain spirit of boasting, but in the ardent 
desire to cheer and encourage) sang the praises of those 



88 THE BATTLE OF LOOKOUT MOUNTAIN. 

who crossed the Rappahannock and struggled and bled to 
achieve that victory which, though it failed to alight upon 
our banner, refused to perch on that of the enemy. They 
returned, if not victorious, at least not dishonored. 

Burnside and Hooker (true types of the patriot soldier) 
have won renown enough for their gallant soldiers to make 
aniends for the ungenerous censure of "the people," who 
award no honors but where victory claims the laurel. 
Both of these sturdy chieftains have, since their repulse 
before the massed and intrenched columns of the foe at 
Fredericksburg and Chancellorsville, wrenched from the 
fickle goddess Fortune the well-earned honors of the gory 
field, and compelled "the many-headed and the many- 
minded" to bring garlands and decorate their brows, and, 
through them, to cheer and honor the gallant soldiers who 
do and die that others may live and be honored. 



%\t §attk ai Italtflttt Itantara. 

BY GEO. H. BOKER. 

"Give me but two brigades/' said Hooker, frowning at fortified 
Lookout, 

"And I'll engage to sweep yon mountain clear of that mock- 
ing rebel rout I" 

At early morning came an order that set the general's face 
aglow : 

"Now," said he to his staff, "draw out my soldiers. Grant 
says that I may go !" 

Hither and thither dash'd each eager colonel to join his regi- 
ment, 

While a low rumor of the daring purpose ran on from tent to 
tent; 



THE BATTLE OF LOOKOUT MOUNTAIN. 89 

For the long-roll was sounding in the valley, and the keen 

trumpet's bray, 
And the wild laughter of the swarthy veterans, who cried, 

"We fight to-day!" 

The solid tramp of infantry, the rumble of the great jolting 
gun, 

The sharp, clear order, and the fierce steeds neighing, "Why's 
not the fight begun?" — 

All these plain harbingers of sudden conflict broke on the 
startled ear ; 

And, last, arose a sound that made your blood leap, — the ring- 
ing battle-cheer. 

The lower works were carried at one onset. Like a vast roaring 
sea 

Of steel and fire, our soldiers from the trenches swept out the 
enemy ; 

And we could see the gray-coats swarming up from the moun- 
tain's leafy base, 

To join their comrades in the higher fastness, — for life or death 
the race ! 

Then our long line went winding round the mountain, in a 

huge serpent track, 
And the slant sun upon it flash'd and glimmer'd, as on a 

dragon's back. 
Higher and higher the column's head push'd onward, ere the 

rear moved a man ; 
And soon the skirmish-lines their straggling volleys and single 

shots began. 

Then the bald head of Lookout flamed and bellow'd, and all 

its batteries woke, 
And down the mountain pour'd the bomb-shells, puffing into 

our eyes their smoke ; 

8* 



90 THE BATTLE OF LOOKOUT MOUNTAIN. 

And balls and grape-shot rain'd upon our column, that bore 

the angry shower 
As if it were no more than that soft dropping which scarcely 

stirs the flower. 

Oh, glorious courage that inspires the hero, and runs through 

all his men ! 
The heart that fail'd beside the Rappahannock, it was itself 

again ! 
The star that circumstance and jealous faction shrouded in 

envious night 
Here shone with all the splendor of its nature, and with a freer 

light ! 

Hark! hark! there go the well-known crashing volleys, the 

long-continued roar, 
That swells and falls, but never ceases wholly, until the fight 

is o'er. 
Up towards the crystal gates of heaven ascending, the mortal 

tempest beat, 
As if they sought to try their cause together before God's very 

feet! 

We saw our troops had gain'd a footing almost beneath the 

topmost ledge, 
And back arid forth the rival lines went surging upon the 

dizzy edge. 
Sometimes we saw our men fall backward slowly, and groan'd 

in our despair ; 
Or cheer'd when now and then a stricken rebel plunged out 

in open air, 
Down, down, a thousand empty fathoms dropping, his God 

alone knows where ! 

At eve, thick haze upon the mountain gather'd, with rising 

smoke stain'd black, 
And not a glimpse of the contending armies shone through 

the swirling rack. 



THE BATTLE OF LOOKOUT MOUNTAIN. 91 

Night fell o'er all ; but still they flash'd their lightnings and 

rolFd their thunders loud, 
Though no man knew upon what side was going that battle in 

the cloud. 



Night! what a night! — of anxious thought and wonder; but 
still no tidings came 

From the bare summit of the trembling mountain, still wrapp'd 
in mist and flame. 

But towards the sleepless dawn, stillness, more dreadful than 
the fierce sound of war, 

Settled o'er Nature, as if she stood breathless before the morn- 
ing star. 

As the sun rose, dense clouds of smoky vapor boil'd from the 

valley's deeps, 
Dragging their torn and ragged edges slowly up through the 

tree-clad steeps, 
And rose and rose, till Lookout, like a vision, above us grandly 

stood, 
And over his black crags and storm-blanch' d headlands burst 

the warm, golden flood. 

Thousands of eyes were fix'd upon the mountain, and thou- 
sands held their breath, 

And the vast army, in the valley watching, seem'd touched 
with sudden death. 

High o'er us soar'd great Lookout, robed in purple, a glory on 
his face, 

A human meaning in his hard, calm features, beneath that 
heavenly grace. 

Out on a crag walk'd something, — "What ? an eagle, that trfads 

yon giddy height ? 
Surely no man ! But still he clamber'd forward into the full, 

rich light ; 



92 THE BATTLE OF LOOKOUT MOUNTAIN. 

Then up he started, with a sudden motion, and from the 

blazing crag 
Flung to the morning breeze and sunny radiance the dear old 

starry flag ! 

Ah ! then what follow'd ? Scarr'd and war-worn soldiers, like 

girls, flush'd through their tan, 
And down the thousand wrinkles of the battles a thousand 

tear-drops ran ; 
Men seized each other in returned embraces, and sobbed for 

very love ; 
A spirit which made all that moment brothers seem'd falling 

from above. 

And, as we gazed, around the mountain's summit our glitter- 
ing files appear'd ; 

Into the rebel works we saw them marching ; and we, — we 
cheer'd, we cheer'd ! 

And they above waved all their flags before us, and join'd our 
frantic shout, 

Standing, like demigods, in light and triumph, upon their own 
Lookout ! 



THE PECULIAR INSTITUTION. 93 



fato 0f % ©to Jffag. 

(Extract from Mr. Murdoch's Lectures.) 

I HAVE frequently been requested to recite poetry in 
which the heroism of rebels has been eulogized, and have 
always refused, on the ground that I would not acknowledge 
a single manly trait to exist in a traitor to his country. 
This rebellion is so supremely wicked and selfish, so 
entirely causeless upon any just grounds hitherto claimed 
by those who have sought the arbitration of the sword, 
that I would not recognize a single virtue in them, even 
if it existed. When has the world ever known before 
of a people, professing to be Christians, and claiming before 
the world a foremost position among the generous, the 
brave, the chivalrous, and the free, yet holding an inferior 
race in bondage, deriving all their wealth from the labor 
of that people, denying the slave the right of property in 
his own child, and rudely seizing and selling them into 
bondage whenever the wants of the master render it con- 
venient and necessary, — separating man and wife, or hold- 
ing all to labor and stripes without the hope of redemp- 
tion, until old age secures to the worn-out carcass the right 
to nibble the bitter weed of the roadside and to die, while 
from the stores of his owner's prosperity the fruits of a 
long life of unrequited labor stare in his face and mock his 
closing eye ? 

When, I repeat, have we known of a people so lost to 
all the humanizing qualities of the heart as madly to seek 
at the cannon's mouth to perpetuate such unheard-of 



94 THE PECULIAR INSTITUTION. 

cruelties, and rudely to sever the fraternal bonds which 
bound them to the fellowship of those who, in compliance 
with the compact of their fathers, justified such injustice, 
at least so long as it was not allowed to gain growth and 
strength by sweeping over the barriers set around it to cir- 
cumscribe its increase and power? 

Rebellion upon just ground arises from gradually ac- 
cumulated wrong and tyranny, on the part of the govern- 
ment, inflicted on the governed. But where the governed 
tyrannize over the government, the necessity for rebellion 
cannot exist. Conspiracy and insurrection then are the 
means taken to overthrow legitimate authority. Then the 
disaffected few inspire the many with distrust and hatred 
of their governors, until the public mind, restless and 
excited, yields to the pressure of party and faction, and 
becomes inflamed and bewildered with apprehensions- of 
suffering, oppression, and tyranny. Thus the seeds of 
sedition and violence are sown, the weak and the ignorant 
misled, until the masses, gazing at that which they are 
told is a monster, begin to see the " horns and tail," and 
fly from a phantom that exists only in their own excited 
imagination* 

The slaveholding States held within themselves the ele- 
ments whence emanated that injustice and evil they falsely 
accused the General Government of inflicting upon them. 

The institution for which they drew the sword and 
struck the traitorous blow was, in itself, the cause of all 
the trouble and discontent which excited them to rebel. 
Our forefathers fought the mother-country for the privilege 
of petition and representation ; they said these were " sacred 
rights" of which they would not be deprived, and had 
Great Britain granted that right at the outset, the rebellion 
would have terminated before the maternal bond was severed. 



THE PECULIAR INSTITUTION. « 95 

The haters of tyranny and oppression in the North said, 
"Slavery is wrong; it ought to be restricted or abolished;" 
and they petitioned Congress for the privilege to debate 
the question. The upholders of stripes and chains in the 
South -said, " You shall not agitate the question ; you shall 
not petition Congress to grant the right to discuss the 
question. We know our Constitution provides for its own 
alteration and amendment; but you shall not bring before 
the people's representatives the subject in any form. We 
will hang all of you who shall come south of Mason and 
Dixon to argue the point, and we will bludgeon and shoot 
your representatives who shall dare to say that ' our mild 
form of holding persons to service' is oppressive or unjust." 

Southern law-makers and teachers of divinity say, " It is 
a God-protected institution; our negroes are taught to 
worship God ; they marry and are given in marriage, and 
their offspring are baptized in the Church. It is no sin," 
they assert, " to hold a weaker race in subjection, — to turn 
their sweat and blood into luxury and wealth for ourselves 
and our children; and, when they dispute our right to 
enforce this doctrine, or are unwilling to labor, it is not op- 
pressive or tyrannical to scourge and starve them until they 
become obedient. It is not wicked to part man and wife 
in their case. The words, t whom God hath joined to- 
gether let no man put asunder/ refer only to white people, 
not to negroes. 'Tis not God that joins them in marriage; 
their masters or mistresses only sanction the ceremonies, be- 
cause, if they were really joined in accordance with God's 
ordinance, they could not be sold apart from each other 
and from their little ones." This refers more particularly 
to the custom on plantations. Marriage in the white 
church, South, means one thing, marriage in the black 
church, South, means another. The " man-seller" of the 



96 THE PECULIAR INSTITUTION. 

South says that the negro is ordained of God for endless 
servitude; he was not intended for that milder form to 
which the Israelitish slave was consigned, and which 
guaranteed to the bondman, after seven years' bondage, 
the right to depart from his master, taking with him his 
wife and children, together with a portion of the worldly 
goods he had helped to acquire. All this was secured to 
him in accordance with the provisions of a merciful law, 
and with the blessing of the hand that bestowed it, with 
the assurance that there was no more servitude for him, 
nor for his wife, nor for their children. 

Rebeldoni says, " I will buy and sell the ' nigger/ chain 
and scourge him, as it pleases me and as my State laws 
permit; moreover, I will have my righteous right per- 
petuated by national legislation, so that my ' blessed insti- 
tution' shall come and go hither and thither as it pleaseth 
it, nor shall any ' mudsill ' in ' Yanl eedom ' gainsay that 
right." 

Such is the platform on which st-md the insurgents of 
the South, and such is the attitude they maintain in the 
face of, and in defiance of, the whole civilized world. 

" Let justice be done, though the heavens fall," saith the 
proverb. Then why should we not act justly, even though 
the slaveholder should fall? But I am talking " abolition 
talk," when I only meant to speak of rebels, and shall be 
accused of belonging to the " Wendell Phillips wing" of 
progress and reform. 

To return to my refusal to eulogize traitors. Much has 
been written of the heroism and religious enthusiasm of 
Stonewall Jackson's character. I have no doubt that he 
was a conscientious man in many respects, and a Christian 
in a certain sense of the word ; but, as he was a rebel in 
arms against his country, I can only afford him the acknow- 



THE PECULIAR INSTITUTION. 97 

ledgment that is expressed in the following sentiment: 
" When men are dead, they cease to be our enemies •" and 
as Stonewall Jackson has been called to answer for his 
actions on earth before a higher tribunal than man's, we 
can afford to deal gently with his memory, and to tread 
lightly over his grave. The sod of his native country, 
saturated with the blood of her noble and loyal sons, will 
lie none the less heavily on the breast of one who devoted 
his energies and talents to strike down his countrymen 
who were battling in defence of human freedom, the sacred 
obligations of rightful allegiance, and the laws of God and 
man. 

• The beautiful and graphic picture of " Barbara Frietchie's" 
heroism is from the pen of John G. Whittier, the Quaker 
poet, — a writer whose bold and withering rebuke of injustice 
and error has always* been as outspoken and marked as his 
gentle laudations of truth and honor have ever been grace- 
ful and generous. The poem is a touching tribute to the 
memory of one who, true to a sacred instinct of our nature, 
love of country, — which, properly expressed, is love of 
kindred and love of God, — rebuked the base and bitter 
spirit of the so-called Christian hero, while he was per- 
forming an act which savored of neither the spirit of a 
knight of chivalry nor of a soldier of God, — the only re- 
deeming point being that he expressed his contrition for 
the act when a nobler nature reminded him of its base- 
ness. As Christians we are called on to forgive our 
enemies; but we are not required to embalm their memories 
in praise or tears// 



98 BARBARA FRIETCHIE. 



§arfrara Jriettjpk. 

BY JOHN 6. WHITTIER. 

Up from the meadows rich with corn, 
Clear in the cool September morn, 

The cluster'd spires of Frederick stand, 
Green-walPd by the hills of Maryland. 

Round about them orchards sweep, 
Apple and peach tree fruited deep, . 

Fair as a garden of the Lord, 

To the eyes of the famish'd rebel horde, 

On that pleasant morn of the early Fall, 
When Lee march'd over the mountain wall, 

Over the mountains winding down, 
Horse and foot, into Frederick town. 

Forty flags with their silver stars, 
Forty flags with their crimson bars, 

Flapp'd in the morning wind : the sun 
Of noon look'd down, and saw not one. 

Up rose old Barbara Frietchie then, 
Bow'd with her fourscore years and ten ; 

Bravest of all in Frederick town, 

She took up the flag the men haul'd down. 

In her attic-window the staff she set, 
To show that one heart was loyal yet. 



v 



BARBARA FRIETCHIE. 99 

Up the street came the rebel tread, 
Stonewall Jackson riding ahead. 

Under his slouch' d hat left and right 
He glanced : the old flag met his sight. 

" Halt I" — the dust-brown ranks stood fast; 
" Fire!" — out blazed the rifle-blast. 

It shiver'd the window-pane and sash, 
It rent the banner with seam and gash, 

Quick, as it fell from the broken staff, 
Dame Barbara snatch' d the silken scarf. 

She lean'd far out on the window-sill, 
And shook it forth with a royal will. 

" Shoot, if you must, this old gray head, 
But spare your country's flag," she said. 

A shade of sadness, a blush of shame, 
Over the face of the leader came ; 

The nobler nature within him stirr'd 
To life at that woman's deed and word. 

u Who touches a hair of yon gray head 
Dies like a dog ! March on !" he said- 
All day long through Frederick street 
Sounded the tread of marching feet; 

All day long that free flag toss'd 
Over the heads of the rebel host. 

Ever its torn folds rose and fell 

On the loyal winds that loved it well ; 



100 AN INCIDENT OF THE WAR. 

And, through the hill-gaps, sunset light 
Shone over it with a warm good-night. 

Barbara Frietchie's work is o'er, 

And the rebel rides^on his raids no more. 

Honor to her ! and let a tear 

Fall, for her sake, on Stonewall's bier. 

Over Barbara Frietchie's grave, 
Flag of Freedom and Union, wave ! 

Peace and order and beauty draw 
Round thy symbol of light and law ; 

And ever the stars above look down 
On thy stars below in Frederick town. 



Jlit Ittritatt at tire SHar. 

(Extract from Mr. Murdoch's Lectures.) 

(l The Sleeping Sentinel" is not alone a poem : it is an ani- 
mated pageant, a series of events and incidents grouped in 
actual existence, moving and glowing, with all the spirit of 
life and truth. We see, and weep for, the boy soldier Scott. 
We behold and mourn with his sorrow-stricken parents. 
How entirely do we sympathise with that soul, crushed 
by the weight of shame and dishonor, but not shaken by 
the terrors of death ! We become conscious of the restless 
midnight step of our kind-hearted President, who, in his 
solitary chamber, walks pondering on the necessity of dis- 
cipline and example, and the offices of gentle and life- 
giving mercy. How human, too, is the shout, in which we 



AN INCIDENT OF THE WAR. 



101 



join, to hail the coming of the glad tidings brought in the 
spirit of the Saviour's errand ! 

Without the ability or will to criticize the poet and his 
numbers, I simply say, I love the poem and delight in the 
movement of the verse. The opening words always call to 
my mind those peculiar and impressive lines of Dr. Holmes, 
addressed by the Puritan father to his son : — " Come hither, 
1 God be glorified/ and sit upon my knee;" not that there 
is any similarity in construction or sentiment, but for the 
savor of the old ballad-opening which hangs about them,— 
the old legendary bell-tone, which, like the Sabbath-toll- 
ing, seems to ring out, — 

" Come, all ye toiling people, round, 
And unto me give ear." 

Old times and old themes come forth from the mould 
and the dust of the past, to sun themselves in the glow of 
the present, when such key-notes are sounded; under 
their genial influence, we are moulded and impressed with 
the true seal of Romance and Poetry, and, like Desdemona, 
with a greedy ear we "devour up" the measured story. 

As an illustration of this tendency of the popular heart 
to throb with the passion of storied verse, let me say, I 
have seen a thousand faces, over which were alternating 
the varying emotions of pride, joy, pity, and defiance, as 
the lookers-on sat in groups or circles on a barren hill-side 
(while the rebels were bombarding Chattanooga), silent 
and absorbed, listening to my recital of heroism, suffering, 
and devotion as portrayed in the ballads and lyrics of my 
favorite war-poets, who have sung so feelingly and fittingly 
of the soldier's deeds. Indeed, the attention and interest 
have been so profound that it might scarcely be disturbed 
even by the dull boom of an occasional shell bursting in 
the mid-air a little nearer "the audience" than the usual 

9* 



102 AN INCIDENT OF THE WAR. 

harmless range of Bragg's "Lookout" batteries. The tears, 
as they trickled down the cheeks of age and youth alike, — 
officers and men, — and then the shouts and cheers that 
would in turn burst forth as freely and unrestrainedly, all 
gave truthful evidence of the strong grasp fixed by the 
narrative and the verse on the heart and the imagination 
of the soldier. 

Under such and other circumstances of an equally ex- 
citing character the listeners never tired of hearing "The 
Oath," "On Board the Cumberland, "The Sleeping Sen- 
tinel," and other poems by the same authors, many of which 
I have recited to citizens and soldiers, in large assemblies, 
amounting in the aggregate to over a hundred thousand 
persons. Such poems cannot fail to excite and develop 
all the gentle emotions of our nature, whenever read or 
recited. At the same time, they are calculated to fan the 
fire of patriotism in every loyal breast into a fiercer flame. 
They purify and elevate our moral nature, making us better 
and happier, casting round the social circle, the fireside- 
group, and the camp-gathering, a mantle of human sym- 
pathy and love. Truly, the poet's mission is — 

''To wake the soul by tender strokes of art, 
To raise the genius, and to mend the heart." 

I had the pleasure of reading this beautiful and touch- 
ing poem, for the first time, to Mr. and Mrs. Lincoln, and a 
select party of their friends, at the White House, by invi- 
tation of Senator Foot, of Vermont, who took a great in- 
terest in the poem, not only for its high excellence, but 
also on account of young Scott being from his native State. 

Its second reading was in the Senate-chamber of the 
United States, which was appropriated for the purpose, — 
the proceeds being for the aid of our sick and wounded 
soldiers. 



THE SLEEPING SENTINEL. 103 



%\t Storing j&ntiraL 



FRANCIS DE HAES JANVIER, 

AUTHOR OF "THE SKELETON MONK," "THE VOYAGE OP LIFE," " THB 
PALACE OF THE CAESARS," AND OTHER POEMS. 

The incidents here woven into verse relate to William Scott, a young 
soldier from the State of Vermont, who, while on duty as a' sentinel at 
night, fell asleep, and, having been condemned to die, was pardoned 
by the President. They form a brief recoi'd of his humble life at home 
and in the field, and of his glorious death. 

" The quality of mercy is not strain'd ; 
It droppeth as the gentle rain from heaven 
Upon the place beneath : it is twice bless'd; 
It blesseth him that gives, and him that takes : 
'Tis mightiest in the mightiest; it becomes 
The throned monarch better than his crown : 
His sceptre shows the force of temporal power, 
The attribute to awe and majesty, 
Wherein doth sit the dread and fear of kings ; 
But mercy is above this sceptred sway, 
It is enthroned in the hearts of kings, 
It is an attribute to God himself; 
And earthly power doth then show likest God's 
When mercy seasons justice." — Shakspeare. 



%\i Steptg StrtifatL 



'Twas in the sultry summer-time, as War's red records show, 
When patriot armies rose to meet a fratricidal foe — 
When, from the, North, and East, and West, like the upheav- 
ing sea, 
Swept forth Columbia's sons, to make our country truly free. 



104 THE SLEEPING SENTINEL. 

Within a prison's dismal walls, where shadows veil'd decay — 
In fetters, on a heap of straw, a youthful soldier lay : 
Heart-broken, hopeless, and forlorn, with short and feverish 

breath, 
He waited but the appointed hour to die a culprit's death. 

Yet, but a few brief weeks before, untroubled with a care, 
He roam'd at will, and freely drew his native mountain air — 
Where sparkling streams leap mossy rocks, from many a wood- 
land font, • 
And waving elms, and grassy slopes, give beauty to Yermont ! 

Where, dwelling in an humble cot, a tiller of the soil, 

Encircled by a mother's love, he shared a father's toil — 

Till, borne upon the wailing winds, his suffering country's 

cry 
Fired his young heart with fervent zeal, for her to live or die. 

Then left he all : — a few fond tears, by firmness half conceal'd, 
A blessing, and a parting prayer, and he was in the field — 
The field of strife, whose dews are blood, whose breezes War's 

hot breath, 
Whose fruits are garner'd in the grave, whose husbandman is 

Death ! 

Without a murmur, he endured a service new and hard ; 
But, wearied with a toilsome march, it chanced one night, on 

guard, 
He sank, exhausted, at his post, and the gray morning found 
His prostrate form — a sentinel, asleep, upon the ground ! 

So, in the silence of the night, aweary, on the sod, 
Sank the disciples, watching near the suffering Son of God ; — 
Yet, Jesus, with compassion moved, beheld their heavy eyes, 
And, though betray'd to ruthless foes, forgiving, bade them 
rise ! 



THE SLEEPING SENTINEL. 105 

But God is love, — and finite minds can faintly comprehend 
How gentle Mercy, in His rule, may with stern Justice blend ; 
And this poor soldier, seized and bound, found none to justify, 
While War's inexorable law decreed that he must die. 



'Twas night. — In a secluded room, with measured tread, and 

slow, 
A statesman of commanding mien, paced gravely to and fro. 
Oppressed, he ponder'd on a land by civil discord rent ; 
On brothers arm'd in deadly strife : — it was the President ! 

The woes of thirty millions filPd his burden'd heart with grief; 
Embattled hosts, on land and sea, acknowledged him their 

chief; 
And yet, amid the din of war, he heard the plaintive cry 
Of that poor soldier, as he lay in prison, doom'd to die ! 



'Twas morning. — On a tented field, and through the heated 

haze, 
Flash'd back, from lines of burnished arms, the sun's effulgent 

blaze ; 
While, from a sombre prison-house, seen slowly to emerge, 
A sad procession, o'er the sward, moved to a mufiied dirge. 

And in the midst, with faltering step, and pale and anxious 

face, 
In manacles, between two guards, a soldier had his place. 
A youth — led out to die ; — and yet, it was not death, but 

shame, 
That smote his gallant heart with dread, and shook his manly 

frame ! 

Still on, before the marshall'd ranks, the train pursued its 

way 
Up to the designated spot, whereon a coffin lay — 
His coffin ! And, with reeling brain, despairing — desolate — 
He took his station by its side, abandon/d to his fate ! 



106 THE SLEEPING SENTINEL. 

Then came across his wavering sight strange pictures in the 

air: — 
He saw his distant mountain home ; he saw his mother there ; 
He saw his father bow'd with grief, through fast-declining 

years ; 
He saw a nameless grave ; and then, the vision closed — in 

tears ! 

Yet, once again. In double file, advancing, then, he saw 

Twelve comrades, sternly set apart to execute the law — 

But saw no more : — his senses swam — deep darkness settled 

round — 
And, shuddering, he awaited now the fatal volley's sound ! 

Then suddenly was heard the noise of steeds and wheels 

approach, — 
And, rolling through a cloud of dust, appear'd a stately 

coach. 
On, past the guards, and through the field, its rapid course was 

bent, 
Till, halting, 'mid the lines was seen the nation's President ! 

lie came to save that stricken soul, now waking from despair ; 
And from a thousand voices rose a shout which rent the air ! 
The pardon'd soldier understood the tones of jubilee, 
And, bounding from his fetters, bless'd the hand that made 
him free ! 

'Twas Spring. — Within a verdant vale, where Warwick's 

crystal tide 
Reflected, o'er its peaceful breast, fair fields on either side — ' 
Where birds and flowers combined to cheer a sylvan solitude — 
Two threatening armies, face to face, in fierce defiance stood ! 

Two threatening armies ! One invoked by injured Liberty — 
Which bore above its patriot ranks the Symbol of the Free ; 
And one, a rebel horde, beneath a flaunting flag of bars, 
A fragment, torn by traitorous hands, from Freedom's Stripes 
and Stars ! 



THE SLEEPING SENTINEL. 107 

A sudden shock which shook the earth, 'mid vapor dense and 

dun, 
Proclaim'd, along the echoing hills, the conflict had begun ; 
While shot and shell, athwart the stream with fiendish fury 

sped, 
To strew among the living lines the dying and the dead ! 

Then, louder than the roaring storm, peaFd forth the stern 

command, 
"Charge! soldiers, charge!" and, at the word, with shouts, a 

fearless band, 
Two hundred heroes from Vermont, rush'd onward through 

the flood, 
And upward o'er the rising ground, they mark'd their way in 

blood ! 

The smitten foe before them fled, in terror, from his post — 
While, unsustain'd, two hundred stood, to battle with a host ! 
Then, turning, as the rallying ranks, with murderous fire, 

replied 
They bore the fallen o'er the field, and through the purple 

tide! 

The fallen ! And the first who fell in that unequal strife, 
Was he whom Mercy sped to save when Justice claim'd his 

life— 
The pardon'd soldier! And, while yet the conflict raged 

around — 
)V"hile yet his life-blood ebb'd away through every gaping 

wound — 

While yet his voice grew tremulous, and death bedimm'd his 

eye- 
He call'd his comrades to attest he had not fear'd to die ! 
And, in his last expiring breath, a prayer to heaven was sent — 
That God, with His unfailing grace, would bless our Presi- 
dent ! 



108 ON BOARD THE CUMBERLAND. 

®n §0urfo % Cttmtalanlr, 

MABCH 7, 1862. 

BY GEORGE H. BOKER. 

"0)1 Board the Cumberland" it will be observed, is in 
the old ballad form of verse, — that simple and unadorned 
style in which the deeds of Robin Hood and his merry 
men, and the chivalry of " Chevy Chase/' won and retained 
the admiration of a rude age, and also that of those in 
which the epic, the dramatic, and the lyric forms advanced 
and culminated in the highest honors of the classic school 
of English literature. The very simplicity of the ballad 
form gives it the element of native energy, and as such 
the dramatic reader feels the full force of its surging 
numbers and syllabic impulses ; they enable him to gather 
up and hurl in a mighty mass, as it were, the soul of 
heroic passion, or to swell into one gushing current the 
tender sympathies of love and pity in extended quantities 
or abrupt explosions of the voice. This is the process by 
which the reader carries his auditor along with him, 
enchaining his attention, enlisting his feelings, and exciting 
his imagination, until the acts described, and not the 
manner of description, fill the eye of the mind, and the 
soul becomes captive to the imagery of the poet. 

" Stand to your guns, men !" Morris cried ; 

Small need to pass the word ; 
Our men at quarters ranged themselves 

Before the drum was heard. 

And then began the sailors' jests : 
" What thing is that, I say V 



ON BOARD THE CUMBERLAND. 109 

"A 'long-shore meeting-house adrift 
Is standing down the bay !" 

A frown came over Morris' face ; 

The strange, dark craft he knew : 
" That is the iron Merrimac, 

Mann'd by a rebel crew. 

" So shot your guns and point them straight : 

Before this day goes by, 
"We'll try of what her metal's made." 

A cheer was our reply. 

" Remember, boys, this flag of ours 

Has seldom left its place ; 
And where it falls, the deck it strikes 

Is cover'd with disgrace. 

" I ask but this : or sink or swim, 

Or live or nobly die, 
My last sight upon earth may be 

To see that ensign fly !" 

Meanwhile the shapeless iron mass 

Came moving o'er the wave, 
As gloomy as a passing hearse, 

As silent as the grave. 

Her ports were closed ; from stem to stern 

No sign of life appear'd : 
We wonder'd, question'd, strain'd our eyes, 

Joked — every thing but fcar'd. 

She reach'd our range. Our broadside rang ; 

Our heavy pivots roar'd ; 
And shot and shell, a fire of hell, 

Against her side we pour'd. 
10 



110 ON BOARD THE CUMBERLAND. 

God's mercy ! from her sloping roof 

The iron tempest glanced, 
As hail bounds from a cottage-thatch, 

And round her leap'd and danced ; 

Or when against her dusky hull 
We struck a fair, full blow, 

The mighty, solid iron globes 
Were crumbled up like snow. 

On, on, with fast increasing speed, 

The silent monster came, 
Though all our starboard battery 

Was one long line of flame. 

She heeded not ; no guns she fired ; 

Straight on our bows she bore ; 
Through riving plank and crashing frame 

Her furious way she tore. 

Alas ! our beautiful, keen bow, 

That in the fiercest blast 
So gently folded back the seas, 

They hardly felt we pass'd ! 

Alas ! alas ! my Cumberland, 
That ne'er knew grief before, 

To be so gored, to feel so deep 
The tusk of that sea-boar ! 

Once more she backward drew apace ; 

Once more our side she rent, 
Then, in the wantonness of hate, 

Her broadside through us sent. 

The dead and dying round us lay, 
But our foeman lay abeam ; 



ON BOARD THE CUMBERLAND. Ill 

Her open port-holes madden' d us, 
We fired with shout and scream. 

We felt our vessel settling fast ; 

We knew our time was brief: 
" Ho ! man the pumps V But they who work'd, 

And fought not, wept with grief. 

" Oh ! keep us but an hour afloat ! 

Oh ! give us only time 
To mete unto yon rebel crew 

The measure of their crime 1" 

From captain down to powder-boy, 

No hand was idle then : 
Two soldiers, but by chance aboard, 

Fought on like sailor men. 

And when a gun's crew lost a hand, 

Some bold marine stepp'd out, 
And jerk'd his braided jacket off, 

And haul'd the gun about. 

Our forward magazine was drown'd, 

And up from the sick-bay 
Crawl'd out the wounded, red with blood, 

And round us gasping lay ; — 

Yes, cheering, calling us by name, 

Struggling with failing breath 
To keep their shipmates at the post 

Where glory strove with death. 

With decks afloat and powder gone, 

The last broadside we gave 
From the guns' heated iron lips 

Burst out beneath the wave. 



112 ON BOARD THE CUMBERLAND. 

So sponges, rammers, and handspikes — 
As men-of-war's men should — 

We placed within their proper racks, 
And at our quarters stood. 



" Up to the spar deck ! save yourselves !" 
Cried Selfridge. " Up, my men ! 

God grant that some of us may live 
To fight yon ship again !" 

"We turn'd : we did not like to go ; 

Yet staying seem'd but vain, 
Knee-deep in water ; so we left ; 

Some swore, some groan'd with pain. 

"We reach'd the deck. There Randall stood : 

"Another turn, men — so!" 
Calmly he aim'd his pivot gun : 

" Now, Tenny, let her go I" 

It did our sore hearts good to hear 

The song our pivot sang, 
As rushing on from wave to wave 

The whirring bomb-shell sprang. 

Brave Randall leap'd upon the gun, 

And waved his cap in sport : 
" Well done ! well aim'd ! I saw that shell 

Go through an open port !" 

It was our last, our deadliest shot; 

The deck was overflown ; 
The poor ship stagger'd, lurch'd to port, 

And gave a living groan. 

Down, down, as headlong through the waves, 
Our gallant vessel rush'd ; 



ON BOARD THE CUMBERLAND. 113 

A thousand gurgling watery sounds 
Around my senses gush'd. 

Then I remember little more ; 

One look to heaven I gave, 
Where, like an angel's wing, I saw 

Our spotless ensign wave. 

I tried to cheer. I cannot say 

Whether I swam or sank ; 
A blue mist closed around my eyes, 

And every thing was blank. 

When I awoke, a soldier lad, 

All dripping from the sea, 
With two great tears upon his cheeks, 

Was bending over me. 

I tried to speak. He understood 

The wish I could not speak. 
He turn'd me. There, thank God ! the flag 

Still flutter'd at the peak ! 

And there, while thread shall hang to thread, 

Oh, let that ensign fly ! 
The noblest constellation set 

Against the northern sky, — 

A sign that we who live may claim 

The peerage of the brave ; 
A monument that needs no scroll, 

For those beneath the wave. 



10* 



114 AN INVOCATION TO LOYALTY. 

Jin Intatbm to fop% 

(Extract from Mr. Murdoch's Lectures.) 
"the oath," by thomas buchanan read, esq. 

This poem was written by Mr. Read, a few days after 
the news reached Cincinnati of the brutal murder of 
General Robert McCook, who was shot by guerrillas, while 
sick and travelling, in Kentucky. It was a master-stroke 
of artistic effect and poetic inspiration which prompted Mr. 
Read to seize on the oath of the ghost in Hamlet and apply 
it to the sons of the men who have fought, bled, and died 
for our country. 

Apart from the general merits of the poem, the appeal of 
the poet to the heroes of the past, and their answer, is in- 
tensely affecting, and reflects the highest credit upon one 
of the first lyrical writers of the age. I cannot refrain 
from referring to an exhibition of the grand and imposing 
effect <of the recitation of this poem, under circumstances 
everyway calculated to test its power as an agent in arous- 
ing the sensibilities of those who are sometimes rendered, 
by frequent contact with violence, indifferent to the appeals 
of poetic imagery and inspired numbers. 

While on a flying visit to nfy friend, General A. McDowell 
McCook, a few days after the battle of Chaplin Hills, in 
passing through Danville, Kentucky, I made a visit, in 
company with the general and his staff, to the house of a 
distinguished Kentucky statesman and loyal gentleman. 
While partaking of his hospitalities, and surrounded by 
many leading men of the neighborhood and several mili- 
tary gentlemen, the question of allegiance to the General 



AN INVOCATION TO LOYALTY. 115 

Government became the topic of discussion. Our host 
remarked that many of his friends, although patriotic and 
loyal men, were not so clear on the subject of putting 
down the rebellion as he could wish them to be. Upon this 
I remarked I did not feel disposed to argue the question in 
debate, but, if permitted, I would arouse their patriotic 
sympathies in behalf of the Government and its defenders 
by an invocation to duty and principle in the shape of 
an oath; or, in other words, I would "swear them all," — as 
I possessed authority, in a poetic sense, and had the docu- 
ments in my pocket. This proposition caused some astonish- 
ment, but it was agreed that I should administer the oath. 
I stood in the centre of a large drawing-room, or parlor, 
the gentlemen standing around me, and there I read the 
poem which is the subject of these remarks. 

Intense silence pervaded the assembly during my re- 
cital, and at the close of it the entire group seemed spell- 
bound; tears were streaming down the cheeks of many, 
while others, with a solemnity that marked the absorbing 
interest awakened by the poet, turned and grasped the 
hands of their neighbors. The host turned to the side-board 
in silence, and, as each guest raised his glass to his lips, 
there was a pause and a look, which seemed to render 
audible the words, " We swear !" while the bowed heads 
and measured steps of the retiring auditors as clearly ex- 
pressed the sentiment of their hearts as though their 
tongues had uttered it. 

General McCook was much affected by the recitation; 
and the unexpected mention of his murdered brother's 
name caused the gallant and impulsive soldier to shed 
tears, at once tender and bitter. 

Who shall say that such an incident was not calculated 
to confirm the faith of the true patriot, and to cause the 



116 THE OATH. 

disaffected or wavering man to think more deeply of his 
duty .to his country and his allegiance to that Government 
under whose protection he enjoys those precious rights to 
secure which his forefathers fought and bled, and for whose 
perpetuation he will be held responsible by his own pos- 
terity ? 



fk ©at|. 

BY THOMAS BUCHANAN READ. 

"Hamlet. — Swear on my sword. 
Ghost (below). — Swear !" — Shakspeare. 

Ye freemen, how long will ye stifle 

The vengeance that justice inspires? 
With treason how long will ye trifle 

And shame the proud names of your sires ? 
Out, out with the sword and the rifle, 

In defence of your homes and your fires ! 
The flag of the old Revolution 

Swear firmly to serve and uphold, 
That no treasonous breath of pollution 

Shall tarnish one star on its fold. 
Swear ! 
And hark ! the deep voices replying 
From graves where your fathers are lying, 
" Swear ! Oh, swear !" 

In this moment, who hesitates, barters 

The rights which his forefathers won ; 
He forfeits all claim to the charters 

Transmitted from sire to son. 
Kneel, kneel at the graves of our martyrs, 

And swear on your sword and your gun ; 
Lay up your great oath on an altar 

As huge and as strong as Stonehenge, 



THE OATH. u 117 

And then, with sword, fire, and halter, 
Sweep down to the field of revenge, 

Swear I 
And hark ! the deep voices replying 
From graves where your fathers are lying, 

" Swear ! Oh, swear !" 

By the tombs of your sires and brothers, 

The host which the traitors have slain ; 
By the tears of your sisters and mothers, 

In secret concealing their pain ; 
The grief which the heroine smothers 

Consuming the heart and the brain ; 
By the sigh of the penniless widow, 

By the sob of our orphans' despair, 
Where they sit in their sorrowful shadow, 

Kneel, kneel, every freeman, and swear ! 
Swear ! 
And hark ! the deep voices replying 
From graves where your fathers are lying, 
"Swear! Oh, swear!" 

On mounds which are wet with the weeping 

Where a nation has bow'd to the sod, 
Where the noblest of martyrs are sleeping, 

Let the wind bear your vengeance abroad, 
And your firm oaths be held in the keeping 

Of your patriot hearts, and your God ; 
Over Ellsworth, for whom the first tear rose, 

While to Baker and Lyon you look, 
By Winthrop, a star among heroes, 

By the blood of our murder'd McCook, 
Swear ! 
And hark ! the deep voices replying 
From graves where your fathers are lying, 
'* Swear ! Oh, swear !" 



118 m GETTYSBURG. 

(Extract from Mr. Murdoch's Lectures.) 

"And he lay like a warrior taking his rest, 
With his martial cloak around him." 

To stand upon what has been a great battle-field, but 
what is now a vast cemetery, — to view the countless mounds 
of the humble many and the decorated resting-places of 
the more worldly-gifted few, and there solemnly to reflect 
upon the many ills that flesh is heir to, — is to feel that war 
is the monster evil that afflicts our race ; but when we. look 
for the cause from which arose the outpouring of that vial 
of wrath, and the upheaving of that before peaceful sod, 
then do we know that civil war is the lower pit of that 
lowest hell depicted by the poet. 

As the spectator casts his saddened eye over the rural 
Golgotha, his mind, refusing to dwell too long on the stern 
mementoes of human passion and frailty, arrests the thought 
of the present, and he turns and gazes down the vistas of 
the past. His fancy starts at the trumpet's blast, while the 
strife of battle and the roar of its fatal engines are conjured 
up to his mind's eye and ear, realizing all the terrors of the 
dreadful scene. Then with an excited imagination he sits 
down to think upon the seeming hollowness of glory and 
the folly of war. When he reflects, however, upon the 
causes of that strife, the fruits of which are before him, he 
feels that the pride of national honor inspired the brave 
men who opposed that horde of rebels and of traitors, and 
drove them back to starve and die amid that desolation 
their own misguided counsels had produced. Then he feels 
that love of country is pride, just pride; that a nation to 
fulfil its mission must protect its honor and repel its 



GETTYSBURG. , 119 

assailers. This is war, just war ! and war is glory, — glory 
is the shroud as well as the banner of the hero who dies 
contending for his country and his God ! -How natural, 
then, is the reaction of the mind when,— leaving the sad 
spectacle on which his eyes have rested and over which 
his thoughts have wandered, — he feels his cheek glow 
with a just indignation at the guilt of the traitorous 
foe, and his heart throb with gratitude for the heroism 
of the loyal dead, whose glory is his country's glory and 
whose deeds are the embodiment of patriotism and honor. 
Such are the pictured scenes and solemn thoughts held up 
to our mental gaze in the mirror of Mr. Janvier's poem 
entitled " Gettysburg." 

The cemetery and the battle-field are before us, and we 
are compelled to bow to the solemnity of the one, while 
we are startled and fired with the tramp and shock of the 
other. 

I have been impressed with awe, overwhelmed with pity 
and grief, and excited to all the fierceness of strife, at its 
recital. Alternating between tears and curses, I have risen 
from its perusal, and felt that only a Christian spirit and 
a poetic inspiration combined could produce such effects 
upon one who has not been unaccustomed to restrain his 
emotions. Since my judgment first led me to admire this 
production of Mr. Janvier, I have found, by the intensified 
attention of the audiences (and they have been many and 
large) to whom I have recited the poem, that they re- 
sponded to my own appreciation of the sentiment; while 
the applause that followed at the close of the recital always 
spoke for their estimation of the poet and the poetry. 

There are few writers who possess such exquisite and 
delicate perceptions of the pure and the beautiful as the 
gentleman who is the subject of my remarks. His numbers 



120 GETTYSBURG. 

are harmonious and flowing, and always in strict accordance 
with the laws of versification. If there be any objection 
to his poetic productions, — for I am free to confess I have 
not the critical ability to detect the existence of any posi- 
tive one, — it may be in his over-exactness and too-sustained 
artistic consistency. This sometimes imparts an appearance 
of labored regularity to his verse, which makes us desire 
the use of the spur rather than the curb to the gait of his 
muse. But I am falling into a needless criticism of Mr. 
Janvier's poetry, rather than adhering to my duty of dis- 
playing its patriotic fire, heroic eulogy and Christian spirit. 
This I profess to accomplish by attempting through the 
medium of my voice a reproduction of that soul-stirring 
spirit which called forth the language and sentiment of a 
poem in which is embodied one of the most beautiful 
tributes that has been paid to the illustrious dead of Get- 
tysburg, — that gallant host whose remains repose beneath 
the soil of their country, but whose memories are embalmed 
in the hearts of their countrymen. 

(Mjslrarjj, 

BY FRANCIS DE HAES JANVIER. 

This poem is prefaced with an extract from the Farewell 
Address of the Father of our Country. 

" The unity of Government, which constitutes you one 
people, is also dear to you. It is justly so; for it is a main 
pillar in the edifice of your real independence, the support 
of your tranquillity at home, your peace abroad; of your 
safety; of your prosperity; of that very Liberty which you 
so highly prize. 

" But as it is easy to foresee that, from different causes 
and from different quarters, much pains will be taken, 



GETTYSBURG. 121 

many artifices employed, to weaken in your minds the con- 
viction of this truth, — as this is the point in your political 
fortress-against which the batteries of internal and external 
enemies will be most constantly and actively (though often 
covertly and insidiously) directed, it is of infinite moment 
that you should properly estimate the immense value of 
your national Union to your collective and individual 
happiness ; that you should cherish a cordial, habitual, and 
immovable attachment to it; accustoming yourselves to 
think and speak of it as the palladium of your political 
safety and prosperity j watching for its preservation with 
jealous anxiety; discountenancing whatever may suggest 
even a suspicion that it can in any event be abandoned ; 
and indignantly frowning upon the first dawning of every 
attempt to alienate any portion of our country from the 
rest, or to enfeeble the sacred ties which now link together 
the various parts. 

"George Washington." 

Two hostile hosts are gather'd here — 

Two armies rest around ; 
And yet, no picket guard is near, 
No pacing sentinels appear 

To watch the camping-ground ! 

No rattling drum, no screaming fife, 

No braying trumpet's breath, 
Gives token of impending strife ; 
There comes no sound of martial life — 

It is the camp of Death ! 

The camp of Death ! — The warrior's pride, 

The sword, and sash, and plume, 
Are here forever laid aside — 
Distinction banish'd, rank denied, 

And every tent a. tomb ! 
11 



122 GETTYSBURG. 

Peace breathes a requiem o'er the past, 

When, down this tranquil vale, 
In smoke and flame, swept war's wild blast, 
While thundering guns peal'd fierce and fast, 
Through storms of iron hail ! 

The battle broke o'er field and grove 

Like a resistless flood, 
And on through living ramparts clove, 
Where Life and Death for mastery strove, 

In agony and blood ! 

The serried squadrons charged and fell 

Before devouring fire — 
And hissing shot, and blazing shell, 
Sent like some blasting bolt from hell, 

Heap'd one vast funeral pyre ! 

And Slaughter strew'd the purple plain 

With torture and dismay — * 
Till strength seem'd weak, and valor vain ; 
And grim and gasping, mid the slain, 

Full many a hero lay ! 

Then rose, with Victory's joyous tones, 

The wailings of Despair — 
And mangled flesh, and shatter'd bones, 
And oaths and curses, shrieks and groans, 

Commingled wildly there ! 

And who were those that, hand to hand, 

Thus closed in deadly strife ? 
Met patriots here a savage band, 
Who swarm'd from some far, barbarous land, 

To strike at Freedom's life ? 

No ! — let the infernal vaults below, 
. • Resound with fiendish glee — 



GETTYSBURG. 123 

A brother was each patriot's foe ; 
Fraternal hands struck every blow 
At bleeding Liberty ! 

Degenerate sons of sires whose names 

Undying fame shall own — 
Who, in the Revolution's flames, 
From fusing fetters, forged the frames 

Of Freedom's lofty throne ! 

Degenerate sons, who, scorn' d and bann'd. 

Eternal shame shall know — 
Who, recreant to their native land, 
Lured by Ambition, madly plann'd 

Their country's overthrow! 

And here, upon this bloody ground, 

To Freedom consecrate — 
The traitorous host advancing, found, ♦ 
As mark'd henceforth, in many a mound, 

The traitor's righteous fate ! 

So when at first, in Heaven above, 

Foul perfidy was known — 
When vile Ambition tainted love, 
And impious treason rashly strove 

Against the Eternal Throne — 

Before Omnipotence, dispersed, 

The rebel armies fell, 
Their dazzling dreams of power reversed, 
Dismay'd, defeated, crush'd, and cursed, 

And headlong hmi'd to hell ! 

So perish all our country" s foes !- 

So ever, frustrate be 
The desperate designs of those 
Who, in our destiny, oppose 

God and Humanity ! 



124 GETTYSBURG. 

Two hostile hosts are gathered here ; 

Yet, but one banner waves — 
Its starry folds, now doubly dear, 
Unfurl' d by Victory, appear 

Above ten thousand graves ! 

Two hostile hosts — but never-more 

To meet in mortal strife ; 
Defiance and defeat are o'er, 
Nor love, nor hate, can now restore 

One prostrate form to life ! 

Ten thousand graves — so, far and wide, 

Before War's withering breath, 
Fall friends and foes, on every side — 
So rolls, through ruin, glory's tide, 

Down to the wastes of Death ! 
• 
Yet here, where many a patriot fought, 

And many a martyr bled, 
Shall Memory dwell — and painful thought 
Will often turn, with pity fraught, 

To treason's nameless dead 1 

But every patriot's dust will claim 

Affection's tenderest tears — 
And, blazon'd on the scroll of Fame, 
Shall shine each martyr'd soldier's name 
Through Time's remotest years ! 

And still, upon this sacred sod, 

The children of the Free, 
Who follow where our fathers trod, 
Shall learn to trust our fathers' God — 

The God of Liberty I 



THE SCHOOL-BOY'S LESSON. 125 



%\t §400l-§0j)'s % mm fa |0rirg winmtalr bj 

(Extract from Mr. Murdoch's Lectures.) 

I shall here narrate an incident of the war as an 
illustration of the lasting impression made on the youth- 
ful mind by the recitation of patriotic poetry, at school 
or elsewhere. And how true is that instinct of our 
nature which impels us, in moments of trial or danger, to 
look within ourselves or towards others for the expression 
of some ennobling sentiment, by which to fan the flame 
of heroic valor and excite the ardor of enthusiasm, — that 
spirit which spurs men on to dare and do in defence of 
principle and right! 

Hence it is that, in the preparations for battle, martial" 
music becomes a necessity. Then, too, does the language 
of heroism, and manly devotion in the cause we fight for, 
prove the steel to the flint, while the sparks that flash from 
the contact serve to create a flame, which, firing the veins 
and swelling the heart, leaves no room for the cooler facul- 
ties to operate on the nervous system. Then do men, bor- 
rowing courage from the words of heroes, burn with so 
fierce a flame of venturous daring that they themselves 
are struck with wonder when the deeds are done. The 
following incident I am about to relate proves how univer- 
sally poetry is allied to heroic deeds, and how spontaneous 
is the growth of sublime courage under the excitement of 
danger and trial in the defence of our country's honor. 

During Kirby Smith's raid in Kentucky, I was enjoying 
the hospitality of Colonel Jack Casement (as he is fami- 
liarly called), of the 103d Ohio. While eating our dinner 



126 THE school-boy's lesson. 

of hard bread and coffee, the pickets were driven in, the 
order to form in line of battle was given, the trenches were 
manned, and, after a short speech from the Colonel, in 
which he exhorted his men to keep cool, load quick, and 
fire low, we stood awaiting the enemy, who, as we sup- 
posed, were about to make an assault upon the works from 
the cover of a thickly-wooded ravine on our left. My 
sensations were new and strange, as I had never been under 
fire, and, turning to the Colonel, I asked his advice as to the 
way in which I could be most useful to him. 

He replied, "While they are advancing up the turnpike 
yonder, the best thing you can do will be to stand by the 
regimental colors and give the boys a verse or two of 
Marco Bozzaris, — 

"'Strike! — till the last arm'd foe expires! 
Strike ! — for your altars and your fires !' etc. 

"Do that, and, I'll pledge my life for it, there is not a 
drop of blood in the 103d that will not fire up and burn 
as long as a foe dare face them. Throw down your car- 
bine, captain, and give us the poetry of war. That's the pre- 
lude to remind us of mother and father, of sister and 
brother, of our country and God! That's the music to 
make the boys fight, and that's the weapon you know how 
to strike with." I was not called upon to make the experi- 
ment; for the rebel advance we were waiting for turned 
out to be a party of our own forces, who, while on a re- 
connoissance, mistook their road. Being in a strip of wood, 
covered with a thick and tangled undergrowth, where the 
ground was broken by the winding course of a small stream, 
the advancing party did not realize their position until they 
saw the guns of Fort Mitchell frowning down upon them. 
Thus they narrowly escaped receiving the fiery greeting 
we had in readiness for the foe. 



MARCO BOZZARIS. 127 



BY FITZ-GREENE HALLECK. 

At midnight, in his guarded tent, 

The Turk was dreaming of the hour 
When Greece, her knee in suppliance bent, 

Should tremble at his power ; 
In dreams, through camp and court he bore 
The trophies of a conqueror; 

In dreams, his song of triumph heard ; 
Then wore his monarch's signet ring; 
Then press'd that monarch's throne— a king: 
As wild his thoughts, and gay of wing, 

As Eden's garden bird. 

At midnight, in the forest shades, 

Bozzaris ranged his Suliote band, 
True as the steel of their tried blades, 

Heroes in heart and hand. 
There had the Persian's thousands stood, 
There had the glad earth drunk their blood, 

On old Plataea's day ; 
And now there breathed that haunted air 
The sons of sires who conquer'd there, 
"With arm to strike, and soul to dare, 

As quick, as far, as they. 

An hour pass'd on: the Turk awoke. 

That bright dream was his last. 
He woke to hear his sentries shriek, 
"To arms! they come! the Greek V the Greek !" 
He woke, to die 'midst flame and smoke, 
And shout, and groan, and sabre-stroke, 

And death-shots falling thick and fast 



128 MARCO BOZZARIS 

As lightnings from the mountain cloud, 
And heard, with voice as trumpet loud, 

Bozzaris cheer his band : 
"Strike! — till the last arm'd foe expires ; 
Strike! — for your altars and your fires; 
Strike ! — for the green graves of your sires ; 

God, and your native land !" 

They fought like brave men, long and well ; 

They piled that ground with Moslem slain 
They conquer' d ; — but Bozzaris fell, 

Bleeding at every vein. 
Ilis few surviving comrades saw 
His smile when rang their loud hurrah 

And the red field was won, 
Then saw in death his eyelids close, 
Calmly as to a night's repose, — 

Like flowers at set of sun. 

Come to the bridal chamber, Death ! 

Come to the mother's, when she feels, 
For the first time, her first-born's breath ; 

Come when the blessed seals 
That close the pestilence are broke, 
And crowded cities^vvail its stroke ; 
Come in consumption's ghastly form, 
The earthquake shock, the ocean storm ; 
Come when the heart beats high and warm 

With banquet song, and dance, and wine; 
And thou art terrible: — the tear, 
The groan, the knell, the pall, the bier, 
And all we know, or dream, or fear, 

Of agon}', are thine. 

But to the hero, when his sword 

Has won the battle for the free, 
Thy voice sounds like a prophet's word, 
And in its hollow tones are heard 
The thanks of millions yet to be. 



MARCO BOZZARIS. 129 

Come when his task of fame is wrought ; 
Come, with her laurel-leaf, blood-bought ; 

Come in her crowning hour, — and then 
Thy sunken eye's unearthly light, 
To him is welcome as the sight 

Of sky and stars to prison' d men; 
Thy grasp is welcome as the hand 
Of brother in a foreign land ; 
Thy summons welcome as the cry 
That told the Indian isles were nigh 

To the world-seeking Genoese, 
When the land-wind, from woods of palm, 
And orange-groves, and fields of balm, 

Blew o'er the Haytian seas. 

Bozzaris ! with the storied brave 

Greece nurtured in her glory's time, 
Rest thee : there is no prouder grave, 

Even in her own proud clime. 
She wore no funeral weeds for thee, 

Nor bade the dark hearse wave its plume, 
Like torn branch from death's leafless tree, 
In sorrow's pomp and pageantry, 

The heartless luxury of the tomb ; 
But she remembers thee as one 
Long loved, and for a season gone ; 
For thee her poet's lyre is wreathed, 
Her marble wrought, her music breathed ; 
For thee she rings the birthday bells ; 
Of thee her babes' first lisping tells ; 
For thine her evening prayer is said, 
At palace couch and cottage bed ; 
Her soldier, closing with the foe, 
Gives for thy sake a deadlier blow ; 
His plighted maiden, when she fears 
For him, the joy of her young years, 
Thinks of thy fate, and checks her tears ; 



130 



And she, the mother of thy boys, 
Though in her eye and faded cheek 
Is read the grief she will not speak, 

The memory of her buried joys, — 
And even she who gave thee birth, 
Will, by their pilgrim-circled hearth, 

Talk of thy doom without a sigh ; 
For thou art Freedom's now, and Fame's. 
One of the few, the immortal names 

That were not born to die. 



• fjetflcs §u t but llcrotsm is (Eternal. 

(Extract from Mr. Murdoch's Lectures.) 

On the 21st of February, 1862, a battle was fought in 
Texas between the Federal forces and the Rebels. Captain 
McRea, of the Federal artillery, was in command of a bat- 
tery supported by a force of New Mexican levies. The 
Texan Rangers made a dash for the guns : the infantry 
gave way and ingloriously fled at the first charge, thus 
leaving the battery unsupported. Nothing daunted, the 
gallant McRea fought on until, finding himself surrounded, 
and seeing no chance of redeeming the fortunes of the 
day, in defiance of the summons to surrender, he drew his 
revolvers, and, leaping on one of his guns, maintained the 
fight, falling in the midst of foes, covered with wounds, — 
thus gallantly sealing with his blood his fidelity to his 
country's cause. Who would withhold from such valor the 
meed of praise, or feel his pulse beat sluggishly when the 
poet sings in glowing strains the gloirous deeds of those 
who die in defence of country and Government, covered 
with the benediction of a sorrowing people ? 



COUNT CANDESPINA'S STANDARD. 131 

The circumstances attending the glorious death of the 
hero of our fight, and that of the hero of Mr Boker's 
poem, are the property of different ages and of different 
nations; yet the soul which shines through them belongs 
to all time and all nations : it is the generous outpouring 
of that spirit which burns in the bosom of every man loyal 
to honor, to woman, and to country, and which sustains the 
possessor in every trial of danger and of suffering, and in 
the solemn hour of death. True honor and chivalry are 
the same now as they were in the days of romance, and are 
always found beneath the banners on which are emblazoned 
Justice, Truth, and Virtue ; and there, till Fame's trump 
shall sound no more, will be found such glorious and self- 
sacrificing champions as Olea and McRea. 



tart fetospa's Stated 

BY GEORGE H. BOKER. 

"The King of Aragon now entered Castile by way of Soria and Osma 
with a powerful army; and, having been met by the queen's forces, 
both parties encamped near Sepulveda, and prepared to give battle. 

" This engagement, called, from the field where it took place, de la 
Espina, is one of the most famous of that age. The dastardly Count 
of Lara fled at the first shock, and joined the queen at Burgos, where 
she was anxiously awaiting the issue ; but the brave Count of Candes- 
pina (Gomez Gonzalez) stood his ground to the last, and died on the 
field of battle. His standard-bearer, a gentleman of the house of Olea, 
after having his horse killed under him, and both hands cut off by sabre- 
strokes, fell beside his master, still clasping the standard in bis arms, 
and repeating his war-cry of 'Olea!'" — Mrs. George: Annah oftha 
Queena of Spain. 

Scarce were the splinter'd lances dropp'd, 
Scarce were the swords drawn out, 

Ere recreant Lara, sick with fear, 
Had wheePd his steed about ; 



132 COUNT candespina's standard. 

His courser rear'd, and plunged, and neigh' d, 

Loathing the fight to yield ; 
But the coward spurr'd him to the hone, 

And drove him from the field. 

Gonzalez in his stirrups rose : 

" Turn, turn, thou traitor knight ! 

Thou bold tongue in a lady's bower, 
Thou dastard in a fight !" 

But vainly valiant Gomez cried 

Across the waning fray : 
Pale Lara and his craven band 

To Burgos scour'd away. 

"Now, by the God above me, sirs, 

Better we all were dead, 
Than a single knight among ye all 

Should ride where Lara led ! 

" Yet, ye who fear to follow me, 

As yon traitor turn%nd fly ; 
For I lead ye not to win a field: 

I lead ye forth to die. 

"Olea, plant my standard here, 

Here, on this little mound ; 
Here raise the war-cry of thy house, 

Make this our rallying ground. 

" Forget not, as thou hop'st for grace, 

The last care I shall have 
Will be to hear thy battle-cry, 

And see that standard wave." 

Down on the ranks of Aragon 

The bold Gonzalez drove, 
And Olea raised his battle-cry, 

And waved the flag above. 



COUNT OANDESPINA'S STANDARD. 133 

Slowly Gonzalez' little band 

Gave ground before the foe ; 
But not an inch of the field was won 

Without a deadly blow ; 

And not an inch of the field was won 

That did not draw a tear 
From the widow'd wives of Aragon, 

That fatal news to hear. 

Backward and backward Gomez fought, 

And high o'er the clashing steel, 
Plainer and plainer, rose the cry, 

" Olea for Castile !" 

Backward fought Gomez, step by step, 

Till the cry was close at hand, 
Till his dauntless standard shadow'd him ; 

And there he made his stand. 

Mace, sword, and axe rang on his mail, 

Yet he moved not where he stood, 
Though each gaping joint of armor ran 

A stream of purple blood. 

As, pierced with countless wounds, he fell, 

The standard caught his eye, 
And he smiled, like an infant hush'd asleep, 

To hear the battle-cry. 

Now one by one the wearied knights 

Have fallen, or basely flown ; 
And on the mound where his post was fix'd 

Olea stood alone. 

" Yield up thy banner, gallant knight ! 

Thy lord lies on the plain ; 
Thy 6\uty has been nobly done ; 

I would not see thee slain." 
12 



134 count candespina's standard. 

'* Spare pity, King of Aragon ; 

I would not hear thee lie : 
My lord is looking down from heaven, 

To see his standard fly." 

" Yield, madman, yield ! — Thy horse is down, 
Thou hast nor lance nor shield ; 

Fly !— I will grant thee time."—" This flag 
Can neither fly nor yield I" 

They girt the standard round about, 

A wall of flashing steel ; 
But still they heard the battle-cry, 

"Olea for Castile!" 

And there, against all Aragon, 
Full-arm'd with lance and brand, 

Olea fought until the sword 
Snapp'd in his sturdy hand. 

Among the foe, with that high scorn 
Which laughs at earthly fears, 

He hurl'd the broken hilt, and drew 
His dagger on the spears. 

They hew'd the hauberk from his breast, 

The helmet from his head, 
They hew'd the hands from off his limbs, 

From every vein he bled. 

Clasping the standard to his heart, 

He raised one dying peal, 
That rang as if a trumpet blew, — 

" Olea for Castile I" 



don't give up the ship. 135 

goit't (gibe ip% Slip. 

(Extract from Mr. Murdoch's Lectures.) 

"The Building of the Ship" is one of the most brilliant 
productions of one of America's most gifted poets. The 
apostrophe to the Union cannot be excelled : it is the per- 
fection of numbers, and the acme of Saxon simplicity, 
terseness, and force, combining fervent dignity with the 
pure spirit of the patriot. 

It is, indeed, an eloquent outpouring of a truly loyal 
heart. When we reflect upon the fact that it was written 
several years since, it seems like a trumpet-tone borne 
to us on the wings of the wind, from the depths of that 
storm-cloud which began to gather on the national horizon 
long before the Ship of State drifted among the breakers 
which now threaten her on every side. 

The prescience of the poet failed to warn us of the 
approaching danger : let it at least inspire us with manly 
courage and devoted patriotism, to breast the storm and 
struggle through its howling terrors, until blue skies and 
gentle ripples bless once more the mighty ocean of our 
nation's destiny. 

This is the purpose I have in view in ringing in your 
ears, with all the fervor and the skill I may possess, the 
noble and sustaining language of Longfellow and other 
kindred spirits, and more especially of those American 
poets who have, during the rebellion, strode in advance of 
our armies, striking the lyre, ami singing the praises of 
heroism, fortitude, and self-sacrifice, — virtues that have 
been nobly and freely offered in the service of our beloved 
country by her brave and suffering defenders. We must 



136 don't give up the ship. 

not lose sight of, or grow weary with, the often-uttered but 
still fresh and grandly inspiring sentiment of our war- 
poets. The music of the lyre, the trumpet, and the drum 
must still vibrate in the nation's ear to keep alive the 
sentiment of national glory, to nerve the arm and fire the 
heart in this great struggle of freedom with its original 
and brutal foe, selfish power, and its vile supporters, the 
scourge and the chain. 

It does not need my voice to inform you of the perilous 
sea on which our national bark is afloat. The roar of 
battle-fields, the groans of the wounded borne to us on 
every wind, mingling with the wailings of widows and 
orphans, fill the air, clouding the brow and saddening the 
heart of every loyal citizen. 

To weather this fearful sea of strife and carnage, we 
must pull together, heart and hand. "A long pull, and a 
strong pull, with a will!" is the cry now. As loyal and 
union-loving Americans, we are all passengers in the glo- 
rious Ship of State, " The Union." We are in the midst of 
a fearful storm, breakers ahead, false lights on the coast, 
and a lee shore: nothing but courage and unity of action 
can save us. There is mutiny aboard; the whispering of 
the malcontents is hissing in our ears on every side; while 
bold, bad men are counselling desertion of the colors, and, 
instead of trusting to the will and skill of the officers and 
crew to bring the vessel off, seek rather to run her ashore, 
trusting to the chances of the wrecker's spoils and plundering. 

" Don't give up the ship !" cried Lawrence, as his men 
carried him, bleeding, below. "The Stars and Stripes 
must not come down," cried Blake, as, in obedience to his 
orders, the brave tars quickened their fire when the little 
Hatteras began to sink alongside the worse than pirate 
Alabama. 



don't give up the ship. 137 

So, my friends, let the war-cry of the Union-man be, 
" Defiance to all traitors, North or South ! our colors are 
nailed to the mast; we will sink or swim with our ship, 
and never desert captain, pilot, or crew!" 

To those who are base enough in their own natures to 
lead, or weak enough to be guided by bad men, in the 
attempt to cripple the Government and strengthen its foes, 
by abuse of the one and encouragement of the other, I 
would, in the spirit of love and good will to my fellow- 
men, say, " When a ship is laboring with the tempestuous 
ocean, when all the elements and all their angers are turned 
into one vowed destruction," — is such a fitting time to 
arraign the officers before a tribunal of the passengers, to 
answer for the safety of the life and the property which 
has been intrusted to their charge ? Would it not be the 
more humane, if not the more consistent, course, to await 
the issue calmly and hopefully, trusting to the discretion 
of a divine power and the honest and brave endeavors of 
the few selected from the many and invested with authority 
to direct and control ? 

Then let us, my friends, instead of charging our rulers 
with weakness and folly and a base and wicked intent to 
forsake the course indicated by the compass and line of 
constitutional direction, endeavor to cheer our leaders, amid 
the gloom and terrors of the storm, with words of trust and 
confidence. 

Lei; us call on them to join with us in seeking aid and 
counsel from Him who holds the winds in the hollow of 
His hand; to humbly seek from Him that strength and 
will and knowledge by which the most intricate chart is 
read aright, and the hand made firm on the helm in the 
midst of the darkest terrors. 

Yes, my countrymen, " come what come may," let us 
12* 



138 THE LAUNCHING OP THE SHIP. 

Btand by the ship ; and, if need be (rather than surrender), 
let us go down with her, even as Morris and his brave 
men did on board the Cumberland. They sank at their 
posts, flashing forth their defiant death-notes till the last, 
leaving nothing but the "flag at the peak" to silently 
tell, in sunshine an# in storm, of the deadly struggle 
between traitors and the brave men who died defending 
the priceless boon bequeathed to United America by the 
patriotic sires of 1776. 



%\t fmtfthtj of % 3\ty. 

An Extract from the Poem of "The Building of the Ship/') 
by longfellow. 

To-day the vessel shall be launch'd. 

With fleecy clouds the sky is blanch'd, 

And o'er the bay, 

Slowly, in all his splendors dight, 

The great sun rises to behold the sight. 

The ocean old, 

Centuries old, 

Strong as youth, and as uncontrolPd, 

Paces restless to and fro 

Up and down the sands of gold. 

His beating heart is not at rest ; 

And far and wide, 

With ceaseless flow, 

His beard of snow 

Heaves with the heaving of his breast. 

He waits impatient for his bride. 



THE LAUNCHING OF THE SHIP. lo9 

There she stands, 

With her foot upon the sands, 

Deck'd with flags and streamers gay, 

In honor of her marriage-day, 

Her snow-white signals fluttering, blending, 

Round her like a veil descending, 

Ready to be 

The bride of the gray old sea. 

On the deck another bride 

Is standing by her lover's side. 

Shadows from the flags and shrouds, • 

Like the shadows cast by clouds, 

Broken by many a sunny fleck, 

Fall around them on the deck. 

The prayer is said, 

The service read, 

The joyous bridegroom bows his head, 

And in tears the good old master 

Shakes the brown hand of his son, 

Kisses his daughter's glowing cheek 

In silence, for he cannot speak ; 

And ever faster 

Down his own the tears begin to run. 

The worthy pastor — 

The shepherd of that wandering flock, 

That has the ocean for its wold, 

That has the vessel for its fold, 

Leaping ever from rock to rock, — » 

Spake, with accents mild and clear, 

Words of warning, words of cheer, 

But tedious to the bridegroom's ear. 

He knew the chart 

Of the sailor's heart, 

All its pleasures and its griefs, 

All its shallows and rocky reefs, 



140 THE LAUNCHING OF THE SHIP. 

All those secret currents that flow 
With such resistless undertow, 
And lift and drift, with terrible force, 
The will from its moorings and its course: 
Therefore he spoke, and thus said he : — 

"Like unto ships far off at sea, 
Outward or homeward bound are we. 
Before, behind, and all around 
Floats and swings the horizon's bound. 
Seems at its distant rim to rise 
# And climb the crystal wall of the skies, 
And then again to turn and sink, 
As if we could slide from its outer brink. 
Ah ! it is not the sea, 
It is not the sea that sinks and shelves, 
But ourselves, 
That rock and rise 
With endless and uneasy motion, 
Now touching the very skies, 
Now sinking into the depths of ocean. 
Ah ! if our souls but poise and swing, 
Like the compass in its brazen ring, 
Ever level and ever true 
To the toil and task we have to do, 
We shall sail securely, and safely reach 
The Fortunate Isles, on whose shining beach 
The sights we see, and the sounds we hear, 
Will be those of joy, and not of fear." 

Then the master, 

With a gesture of command, 

Waved his hand ; 

And, at the word, 

Loud and sudden there was heard, 

All around them and below, 

The sound of hammers, blow on blow, 



THE LAUNCHING OF THE SHIP. 141 

Knocking away the shores and spurs. 

And see ! she stirs ! 

She starts ; she moves ; she seems to feel 

The thrill of life along her keel, 

And, spurning with her foot the ground, 

"With one exulting, joyous bound 

She leaps into the ocean's arms ! 

And, lo ! from the assembled crowd 

There rose a shout, prolonged and loud, 

That to the ocean seemed to say, 

"Take her, bridegroom old and gray, — 

Take her to thy protecting arms, 

With all her youth and all her charms 1" 

How beautiful she is ! How fair 

She lies within those arms that press 

Her form with many a soft caress 

Of tenderness and watchful care ! 

Sail forth into the sea, ship ! 

Through wind and wave right onward steer 1 

The moisten'd eye, the trembling lip, 

Are not the signs of doubt or fear. 

Sail forth into the sea of life, 
gentle, loving, trusting wife, 
And safe from all adversity 
Upon the bosom of that sea 
Thy comings and thy goings be ! 
For gentleness, and love, and trust 
Prevail o'er angry wave and gust ; 
And in the wreck of noble lives, 
Something immortal still survives. 

Thou too sail on, Ship of State ! 
Sail on, Union, strong and great I 
Humanity, with all its fears, 
With all the hopes of future years, 



142 THE DYING SOLDIER. 

Is hanging breathless on thy fate ! 

We know what master laid thy keel, 

"What workman wrought thy ribs of steel, 

Who made each mast, and sail, and rope, 

What anvils rang, what hammers beat, 

In what a forge and what a heat 

Were shaped the anchors of thy hope. 

Fear not each sudden sound and shock : 

'Tis of the wave, and not the rock ; 

'Tis but the napping of the sail, 

And not a rent made by the gale ! 

In spite of rock and tempest's roar, 

In spite of false lights on the shore, 

Sail on, nor fear to breast the sea ! 

Our hearts, our hopes, are all with thee : 

Our hearts, our hopes, our prayers, our tears, 

Our faith triumphant o'er our fears, 

Are all with thee ! are all with thee ! 



BY RICHARD COE. 

" Chaplain, I am dying, dying : 
Cut a lock from off my hair, 
For my darling mother, chaplain, 

After I am dead, to wear : 
Mind you, 'tis for mother, chaplain, 

She whose early teachings now 
Soothe and comfort the poor soldier 
With the death-dew on his brow ! 

" Kneel down, now, beside me, chaplain, 
And return my thanks to Him 



THE DYING SOLDIER. 

Who so* good a mother gave me: 
Oh, my eyes are growing dim ! 

Tell her, chaplain, should you see her, 
All at last with me was well ; 

Through the valley of the shadow 
I have gone, with Christ to dwell ! 

" Do not weep, I pray you, chaplain : 

Yes, ah! weep for mother dear ; 
I'm the only living son, sir, 

Of a widow'd mourner here : 
Mother ! I am going, going 

To the land where angels dwell ; 
I commend you unto Jesus : 

Mother darling — fare you well !" 

Downward from their thrones of beauty 

Look'd the stars upon his face ; 
Upward on the wings of duty 

Sped the angel of God's grace, 
Bearing through the heavenly portal, 

To his blessed home above, 
The dead soldier's soul immortal, 

To partake of Christ's sweet love. 

Far away, in humble cottage, 

Sits his mother, sad and lone ; 
And her eyes are red with weeping, 

Thinking of her absent son : 
Suddenly Death's pallid presence 

Casts a shadow o'er her brow : 
•Smiling a sweet smile of welcome, 

She is with her loved ones now I 



143 



144 THE RISING, 1776. 

% \% ping, \77B. 

(Extract from "The Wagoner of the Alleghanies.") 

by t. buchanan read. 

Out of the North the wild news came, 
Far flashing on its wings of flame, 
Swift as the boreal light which flies 
At midnight through the startled skies. 

And there was tumult in the air, 

The fife's shrill note, the drum's loud beat, I 
And through the wide land everywhere 

The answering tread of hurrying feet; 
"While the first oath of Freedom's gun 
Came on the blast from Lexington ; 
And Concord roused, no longer tame, 
Forgot her old baptismal name, 
Made bare her patriot arm of power, 
And swell'd the discord of the hour. 

Within its shade of elm and oak 

The church of Berkley Manor stood ; 
There Sunday found the rural folk, 

And some esteem'd of gentle blood. 

In vain their feet with loitering tread 
Pass'd mid the graves where rank is naught; 
All could not read the lesson taught 

In that republic of the dead. 

How sweet the hour of Sabbath talk, 
The vale with peace and sunshine full, 

Where all the, happy people walk, 

Deck'd in their homespun flax and wool ! 
Where youth's gay hats with blossoms bloom; 



THE RISING, 1776. 145 

And every maid, with simple art, 
"Wears on her breast, like her own heart, 

A bud whose depths are all perfume ; 
While every garment's gentle stir 
Is breathing rose and lavender. 



There, veiPd in all the sweets that are 

Blown from the violet's purple bosom, 
The scent of lilacs from afar, 

Touch' d with the sweet shrub's spicy blossom, 
Walk'd Esther ; and the rustic ranks 
Stood on each side, like flowery banks, 
To let her pass, — a blooming aisle, 
Made brighter by her summer smile ; 
On her father's arm she seem'd to be 
The last green bough of that haughty tree. 

The pastor came ; his snowy locks 

Hallow'd his brow of thought and care ; 
And calmly, as shepherds lead their flocks, 

He led into the house of prayer. 

Forgive the student Edgar there 
If his enchanted eyes would roam, 

And if his thoughts soar'd not beyond, 

And if his heart glow'd warmly fond 
Beneath his hope's terrestrial dome. 
To him the maiden seem'd to stand, 

Veil'd in the glory of the morn, 

At the bar of the heavenly bourn, 
A guide to the golden holy land. 

When came the service low response, 
Hers seem'd an angel's answering tongue ; 
When with the singing choir she sung, 
O'er all the rest her sweet notes rung, 
As if a silver bell were swung 

Mid bells of iron and of bronze. 
13 



146 



At times, perchance, — oh, happy chance ! — 

Their lifting eyes together met, 

Like violet to violet, 
Casting a dewy greeting glance. 
For once be Love, young Love, forgiven, 

That here, in a bewilder'd trance, 

He brought the blossoms of romance, 
And waved them at the gates of heaven. 

The pastor rose ; the prayer was strong ; 
The psalm was warrior David's song ; 
The text, a few short words of might, — 
"The Lord of hosts shall arm the right!" 
He spoke of wrongs too long endured, 
Of sacred rights to be secured ; 
Then from his patriot tongue of flame 
The startling words for Freedom came. 
The stirring sentences he spake 
Compell'd the heart to glow or quake, 
And, rising on his theme's broad wing, 

And grasping in his nervous hand 

The imaginary battle-brand, 
In face of death he dared to fling 
Defiance to a tyrant king. 

Even as he spoke, his frame, renewed 
In eloquence of attitude, 
Rose, as it seem'd, a shoulder higher ; 
Then swept his kindling glance of fire 
From startled pew to breathless choir; 
When suddenly his mantle wide 
His hands impatient flung aside, 
And, lo ! he met their wondering eyes 
Complete in all a warrior's guise. 

A moment there was awful pause, — 

"When Berkley cried, "Cease, traitor! cease ! 



THE RISING, 1776. 147 

God's temple is the house of peace 1" 

The other shouted, "Nay, not so, 
When God is with our righteous cause ; 
His holiest places then are ours, 
His temples are our forts and towers 

That frown upon the tyrant foe ; 
In this, the dawn of Freedom's day, 
There is a time to fight and pray \" 

And now before the open door — 

The warrior priest had order'd so— 
The enlisting trumpet's sudden roar 
Rang through the chapel, o'er and o'er. 

Its long reverberating blow, 
So loud and clear, it seem'd the ear 
Of dusty death must wake and hear. 
And there the startling drum and fife 
Fired the living with fiercer life ; 
While overhead, with wild increase, 
Forgetting its ancient toll of peace, 

The great bell swung as never before 
It seem'd as it would never cease ; 
And every word its ardor flung 
From off its jubilant iron tongue 

Was, "War! war! war!" ' 

"■ Who dares?" — this was the patriot's cry, 
As striding from the desk he came, — 
"Come out with me, in Freedom's name, 

For her to live, for her to die?" 

A hundred hands flung up reply, 

A hundred voices answer'd. " I!" 



148 BEFORE VICKSBURG. 



§rf0W Sitkslmrg. 

(May 19, 1S63.) 

The President has recently appointed to the Naval 
School at Newport a little drummer-boy of the 55th Illinois 
Volunteers, whose case was brought before him by Major- 
General W. T. Sherman in the following letter. Truly, 
the letter does as much honor to the distinguished major- 
general, who could pause in the midst of the duties of a 
great campaign to pay such tribute to a drummer-boy, as 
it does to the little hero whom it celebrates : — 

"Head-Quarters 15th Army Corps, j 
"Camp on Big Black River, August 8, 1863. ) 

"•Hon. E. M. Stanton, Secretary of War : — 

"Sir: — I take the liberty of asking through you that some- 
thing be done for a lad named Orion P. Howe, of Waukegan, 
Illinois, who belongs to the 55th Illinois, but at present at 
home wounded. I think he is too young for West Point, but 
'would be the very thing for a midshipman. 

"When the assault at Vicksburg was at its height, on the 
19th of May, and I was in front near the road, which formed 
my line of attack, this young lad came up to me, wounded and 
bleeding, with a good, healthy boy's cry, ' General Sherman, 
send some cartridges to Colonel Malmborg : the men are nearly 
all out.' 'What is the matter, my boy?' 'They shot me in 
the leg, sir ; but I can go to the hospital. Send the cartridges 
right away/ Even where we stood the shot fell thick, and I 
told him to go to the rear at once, I would attend to the car- 
tridges ; and off he limped. Just before he disappeared on the 
hill, he turned, and called, as loud as he could, ' Calibre 54.' I 
have not seen the lad since, and his colonel (Malmborg), on 



BEFORE VICKSBURG. 149 

inquiry, gives me the address as above, and says he is a bright, 
intelligent boy, with a fair preliminary education. 

" What arrested my attention then was — and what renewed 
my memory of the fact now is — that one so young, carrying a 
musket-ball through his leg, should have found his way to me 
on that fatal spot, and delivered his message, not forgetting the 
very important part, even, of the calibre of his musket, — 54, — 
which, you know, is an unusual one. 

" I'll warrant that the boy has in him the elements of a man, 
and I commend him to the Government as one worthy the 
fostering care of some one of its national institutions. 
" I am, with respect, your obedient servant, 

" W. T. Sherman, 
Major- General Commanding." 

While Sherman stood beneath the hottest fire 

That from the lines of Yicksburg gleam'd, 
And bomb-shells tumbled in their smoky gyre, 
And grape-shot hiss'd, and case-shot scream'd, 
Back from the front there came, 
Weeping and sorely lame, 
The merest child, the youngest face, 
Man ever saw in such a fearful place. 

Stifling his tears, he limp'd his chief to meet; 

But, when he paused and tottering stood, 
Around the circle of his little feet 

There spread a pool of bright young blood. 
Shock'd at his doleful case, 
Sherman cried, " Halt ! front face ! 
Who are you ? speak, my gallant boy I" 
"A drummer, sir,— Fifty-fifth Illinois." 

"Are you not hit?" " That's nothing. Only send 

Some cartridges. Our men are out, 
And the foe press us." "But, my little friend " 

" Don't mind me ! Did you hear that shout? 
13* 



150 OUR HEROES. 

What if our men be driven ? 

Oh, for the love of heaven, 

Send to my colonel, general dear " 

"But you?" "Oh, I shall easily find the rear." 

"I'll see to that," cried Sherman ; and a drop, 

Angels might envy, dimm'd his eye, 
As the boy, toiling towards the hill's hard top, 
Turn'd round, and, with his shrill child's cry, 
Shouted, "Oh, don't forget! 
We'll win the battle yet ! 
But let our soldiers have some more — 
More cartridges, sir, — calibre fifty -four I" 

George H. Boker. 
April 2, 1864. 



®wr ferns, 

BY FRANCIS DE HAES JANVrER. 

Cheers ! Cheers for our heroes ; 

Not those who wear stars ; 
Nor those who wear eagles, 

And leaflets, and bars ; 
We know they are gallant, 

And honor them, too, 
For bravely maintaining 

The Red, White, and Blue ! 

But, cheers for our soldiers, 

Rough, wrinkled, and brown ; 
The men who make heroes, 

And ask no renown : — 
Unselfish, untiring, 

Intrepid, and true ; 
The bulwark surrounding 

The Red, White, and Blue ! 



OUR HEROES. 151 

Our patriot soldiers ! 

When Treason arose, 
And Freedom's own children 

Assail'd her as foes ; 
When Anarchy threaten'd, 

And Order withdrew, 
They rallied to rescue 

The Red, White, and Blue ! 

Upholding our banner, 

On many a field, 
The doom of the traitor 

They valiantly seal'd ; 
And, worn with the conflict, 

Found vigor anew, 
Where Victory greeted 

The Red, White, and Blue ! 

Yet, loved ones have fallen — 

And still, where they sleep 
A sorrowing Nation 

Shall silently weep ; 
And Spring's fairest flowers, 

In gratitude, strew, 
O'er those who have cherish'd 

The Red, White, and Blue 1 

But, glory immortal 

Is waiting them now ; 
And chaplets unfading, 

Shall bind every brow, 
When, call'd by the trumpet, 

At Time's great review, 
They stand, who defended 

The Red, White, and Blue ! 



52 WOUNDED. 



BY RET. WILLIAM E. MILLER. 

Let me lie down 
Just here in the shade of this cannon-torn tree, 
Here, low on the trampled grass, where I may see 
The surge of the combat, and where I may hear 
The glad cry of victory, cheer upon cheer : 

Let me lie down. 

Oh, it was grand ! 
Like the tempest we charged, in the triumph to share; 
The tempest, — its fury and thunder were there : 
On, on, o'er intrcnchments, o'er living and dead, 
With the foe under foot, and our flag overhead : 

Oh, it was grand ! 

Weary and faint. 
Prone on the soldier's couch, ah, how can I rest, 
With this shot-shatter'd head and sabre-pierced breast? 
Comrades, at roll-call when I shall be sought, 
Say I fought till I fell, and fell where I fought, 

Wounded and faint. 

Oh, that last charge ! 
Right through the dread hell-fire of shrapnel and shell, 
Through without faltering, — clear through with a yell ! 
Right in their midst, in the turmoil and gloom, 
Like heroes we dash'd, at the mandate of doom ! 

Oh, that last charge ! 

It was duty ! 
Some things are worthless, and some others so good 
That nations who buy them pay only in blood. 



WOUNDED. 153 

For Freedom and Union each man owes his part ; 
And here I pay my share, all warm from my heart : 
It is duty. 

Dying at last ! 
My mother, dear mother ! with meek tearful eye, 
Farewell ! and God bless you, for ever and aye ! 
Oh that I now lay on your pillowing breast, 
To breathe my last sigh on the bosom first prest ! 

Dying at last ! 

I am no saint ; 
But, boys, say a prayer. There's one that begins, 
"Our Father/' and then says, "Forgive us our sins:" 
Don't forget that part, say that strongly, and then 
I'll try to repeat it, and you'll say, " Amen !" 

Ah I I'm no saint ! 

Hark ! there's a shout ! 
Raise me up, comrades ! We have conquer'd, I know ! — 
Up, up on my feet, with my face to the foe ! 
Ah ! there flies the flag, with its star-spangles bright, • 
The promise of glory, the symbol of right ! 

Well may they shout ! 

I'm muster'd out. 
God of our fathers, our freedom prolong, 
And tread down rebellion, oppression, and wrong ! 

land of earth's hope, on thy blood-redden'd sod 

1 die for the nation, the Union, and God ! 

I'm muster'd out. 



154 AN OLD FRIEND IN A NEW DRESS. 



(From the "Cincinnati Daily Commercial/' Tuesday Morning, 
January 19, 1864.) 

Jin ©ft Irieni iix a |ta gttss. 

(Sung to the tune of "Hurrah for the Bonnets of Blue.") 

"On the first page will be found a song that sings itself, adapted 
from Burns's 'Here's a Health to Them that's Awa',' by James E. 
Murdoch, Esq, The original song was not published during the life of 
Burns. It was first given to the public in ISIS, in tlic 'Edinburgh 
Magazine,' and was incorporated the following year into a small 
edition of his writings published at Melrose by John Smith, book- 
seller. A political song, it breathes the spirit of good-fellowship, and 
an admiration for honest purpose, patriotic devotion to country and 
freedom, and whatever is honorable or noble in man or woman. It has 
lost none of its vigor of expression, the perfection of its rhythm, or its 
patriotic spirit, by Mr. Murdoch's felicitous adaptation." 

"HERE'S A HEALTH TO THEM THAT'S AWA'." 

Lines by Robert Burns, altered and adapted to suit the present 
times, by James E. Murdoch, with an apology for the liberty taken 
with the original song, — a liberty which nothing but a truly loyal 
object could justify. 

Here's a health to them that's awa', 

And here's to them that's awa' ; 
And wha would na' wish guid luck to our cause, 

May never guid luck be their fa' ! 
It's guid to be merry and wise, 

It's guid to be honest and true ; 
It's guid to support Columbia's cause, 

And bide by the Red, White, and Blue. 
Chorus. — Hurrah for the Red, White, and Blue ! 

Hurrah for the Red, White and Blue ! 
It's guid to support our country's cause, 

And bide by the Red, White, and Blue. 



AN OLD FRIEND IN A NEW DRESS. 155 

Here's a health to them that's awa', 

And here's to them that's awa' ; 
Here's a health to "auld Abe," the chief o' the clan, 

And may his band never be sma' ! ♦ 
May Liberty meet wi' success ; 

May prudence protect her fra' evil ; 
May traitors and tyranny tine* i' the mist, 

And wander their way to the de'il. 
Chorus. — Hurrah for the Red, White, and Blue ! &c. 

Here's a health to them that's awa', 

And here's to them that's awa' ; 
Here's a bumper to Chase, — he, the Western laddie, 

That made "Greenbacks" as guid as the law. 
Here's freedom to him that would read, 

Here's freedom to him that would write: 
There's nane ever fear'd that the truth should be heard, 

But they wham the truth would indict. 
Chorus. — Hurrah for the Red, White, and Blue ! &c. 

Here's a health to them that's awa', 

And here's to them that's awa' ; 
Here's Meade, and here's Grant ; and wha would them daunt, 

We'll build in a hole i' the wa'. 
Here's woman that's true at the heart, 

Here's man that is sound at the core : 
May he that wad turn his button and coat 

Be turn'd to the back of the door. 
Clwrus. — Hurrah for the Red, White, and Blue ! &c. 

Here's a health to them that's awa', 

And here's to them that's awa' ; 
Here's Abram Lincoln, a chief that's na' winfein', 

But bred wi' an axe in his paw ; 

* Be lost. 



156 LINES ON THE FRIGATE ALLIANCE. 

Here's friends to the Stripes and the Stars, 
Here's friends that stand by them at need ; 

And wha would betray his country's cause 
May hang by, the neck till he's deed. 

Chorus. — Hurrah for the Red, White, and Blue ! &c. 

Here's a health to them that's awa', 

And here's to them that's awa' ; 
Here's a health to our uncle, — to guid Uncle Sam, 

His soldiers and sailors so braw I 
May cruel war soon be over, 

And peace to our land come again ; 
May law and unity triumph, 

And banish all sorrow and pain ! 
Chorus. — Hurrah for the Red, White, and Blue ! &c. 



BY PHILLIP FRENEAU, A POET OP THE REVOLUTION, 1776. 

As Neptune traced the azure main, 
That own'd so late proud Britain's reign, 
A floating pile approach'd his car, — 
The scene of terror and of war. 

As nearer still the monarch drew 
(Her starry flag display'd to view), 
He ask'd a Triton of his train, 
" What flag was this that rode the main ? 

"A snip of such a gallant mien 
This many a day I have not seen : 
To no mean power can she belong, 
So swift, so warlike, stout, and strong. 



LINES ON THE FRIGATE ALLIANCE. 157 

" See how she mounts the foaming wave, 
Where other ships would find a grave: 
Majestic, awful, and serene, 
She walks the ocean like its queen." 

"Great monarch of the hoary deep, 
Whose trident awes the waves to sleep," 
Replied a Triton of his train, 
"This ship that stems the Western main 

" To those new, rising States belongs, 
Who, in resentment of their wrongs, 
Oppose proud Britain's tyrant sway, 
And combat her by land and sea. 

"This pile, of such superior fame, 
From their strict union takes her name; 
For them she cleaves the briny tide, 
While terror marches by her side. 

"When she unfurls her flowing sails, 
Undaunted by the fiercest gales, 
In dreadful pomp she ploughs the main, 
While adverse tempests rage in vain. 

"When she displays her gloomy tier, 
The boldest Britons freeze with fear, 
And, owning her superior might, 
Seek their best safety in their flight. 

"But, when she pours the dreadful blaze, 
And thunder from her cannon plays, 
The bursting flash that wings the ball 
Compels those foes to strike or fall. 

"Though she,* with her triumphant train 
Might fill with awe the British main, 
Yet, filial to the land that bore, 
She stays to guard her native shore. 
14 



158 CHARLESTON HARBOR. 

"Though she might make their cruisers groan 

That sail beneath the torrid zone, 

She kindly lends a nearer aid, 

Annoys them here, and guards the trade. 

"Now traversing the Eastern main, 
She greets the shores of France and Spain : 
Her gallant flag, display'd to view, 
Invites the Old World to the New. 

"This task achieved, behold her go 
To seas congeal'd with ice and snow, 
To either tropic, and the line, 
Where suns with endless fervor shine. 

"Not, Argo, in thy womb was found 
Such hearts of brass as here abound : 
They for their golden fleece did fly, 
These sail to vanquish tyranny/' 



Charleston Jarbot in 177-6 stnb Iflfil. 

(Extract from Mr. Murdoch's Lectures.) 

In tracing the history of the "relics, I have necessarily 
confined myself to the sailor's record of glorious deeds 
done in defence of our national honor. Before taking leave 
of my subject, I will tender you two striking pictures of 
heroic devotion, which will speak for the heroism of the 
soldier, displayed on a hundred memorable battle-fields, 
embodying in their spirit the soul of chivalric daring which 
pervades our army, rank and file. 

When Fort Moultrie, in Charleston harbor, was invested 



IN 1776 AND 1861. 159 

by the British in 1776, the flag was shot away during the 
fight. Sergeant Jasper leaped into the moat, seized the 
flag, and, climbing upon the ramparts, waved it above his 
head till another staff was erected. This noble act was 
performed during the hottest fire from the enemy's ships. 

When the traitors of Charleston assailed Sumter (so 
nobly defended by the gallant Major Anderson), the follow- 
ing incident occurred. Sergeant Hart, who had served 
with the Major in Mexico, was sent down from New York 
by Mrs. Anderson with letters for her husband. The 
authorities at Charleston refused to let the sergeant pass to 
the fort unless he gave his parole not to bear arms in the 
defence. This was acceded to, and the faithful soldier 
executed his mission of love. During the fiercest bombard- 
ment of the fort, while standing, watching the flying 
shells and balls, from a sheltered position, the sergeant saw 
the old flag stricken down by a shot. Without stopping to 
argue on the exact extent of a non-combatant's passiveness, 
true to the instincts of a loyal citizen, he sprang forward, 
secured the Stars and Stripes, and, from the most prominent 
position on the works, waved them forth, until another staff 
was raised, and then, arranging the halliards with his own 
hands, ran up the starry emblem, to defy once more the 
murderous assault of the would-be assassins of the nation's 
life. 

I will not venture to comment on the sublime acts of 
patriotic devotion, but.will avail myself of the poetic fervor 
of Bayard Taylor to sing the praises of the soldier's deeds, 
and blend the spirit of 1776- and 1812 with that of '61, 
132, and '63. 



160 SCOTT AND THE VETERAN. 



Scott aifo % Mm. 

BY BAYARD TAYLOR. 

An old and crippled veteran to the War Department came: 
He sought the chief who led him on many a field of fame, — 
The chief who shouted, "Forward!" where'er his banner rose, 
And bore its stars in triumph behind the flying foes. 

" Have you forgotten, general," the batter'd soldier cried, 
"The days of eighteen hundred twelve, when I was at your 

side? 
Have you forgotten Johnson, that fought at Lundy's Lane ? 
'Tis true I'm old and pension'd ; but I want to fight again." 

"Have I forgotten," said the chief, "my brave old soldier? 

No! 
And here's the hand I gave you then, and let it tell you so; 
But you have done your share, my friend; you're crippled, old, 

and gray, 
And we have need of younger arms and fresher blood to-day." 

"But, general," cried the veteran, a flush upon his brow, 
"The very men who fought with us, they say, are traitors now. 
They've torn the flag of Lundy's Lane, our old Red, White, 

and Blue ; 
And, while a drop of blood is left, I'll show that drop is true. 

"I'm not so weak but I can strike, and I've a good old gun, 
To get the range of traitors' hearts and pick them one by one. 
Your minie rifles and such arms it a'n't worth while to try ; 
I couldn't get the hang of them; but I'll keep my powder 
dry!" 



SCOTT AND THE VETERAN. 161 

"God bless you, comrade !" said the chief; "God bless your 

loyal heart ! 
But younger men are in the field, and claim to have their part: 
They'll plant our sacred banner in each rebellious town, 
And woe henceforth to any hand that dares to pull it down I" 

"But, general," still persisting, the weeping veteran cried, 
"I'm young enough to follow, so long as you're my guide ; 
And some, you know, must bite the dust, and that at least can I : 
So give the young ones a place to fight, but me a place to die ! 

"If they should fire on Pickens, let the colonel in command 
Put me upon the rampart, with the flag-staff in my hand : 
No odds how hot the cannon smoke, or how the shells may fly, 
I'll hold the Stars and Stripes aloft, and hold them till I die ! 

"I'm ready, general, so you let a post to me be given 

Where Washington can see me, as he looks from highest 

heaven, 
And says to Putnam at his side, or may-be General Wayne, 
' There stands old Billy Johnson, that fought at Lundy's 

Lane ! 

"And when the fight is hottest, before the traitors fly, 
When shell and ball are screeching and bursting in the sky, 
If any shot should hit me, and lay me on my face, 
My soul would go to Washington's and not to Arnold's place." 



14* 



162 PAUL JONES, AND THE NAVY OF THE REVOLUTION. 

(Extract from Mr. Murdoch's Lectures.) 

In these days of degeneracy and disloyalty, as expressed 
in the rebellious South and in the sympathy the rebellion 
has met with at home and abroad, it is a pleasing duty to 
bring forth and review the generous acts of those men who 
came from foreign countries and imperilled property and 
life to aid our fathers in protecting and perpetuating the 
rights of man. Foremost among these brave men stands 
Paul Jones, whose noble devotion to the cause of freedom 
has won for his name an imperishable record in our naval 
history. 

Commodore Paul Jones was born in Scotland. His father, 
a respectable man in the lower walks of life, could only 
afford him a moderate education for a boy twelve years old. 
Having fed his roving fancy with tales of adventure gleaned 
from the old sailors who frequented the ship-yards and 
lounged in the nautical haunts along the shores of Solway 
Frith, near his home, he resolved at that age to visit Ame- 
rica. Circumstances favored his intentions; and here he 
passed several years of his life. He became engaged in 
commerce, and studied navigation. This he carried into 
practical experience during two or three voyages to the 
coast of Africa j and, after holding several important com- 
mands in the commercial marine, he tendered his services 
to the infant navy of the Colonies, — satisfied that their 
cause was the cause of justice and of right, and anxious 
to distinguish' himself as a defender of that which his 
conscience approved and to which his generous and heroic 
sympathies directed him. We first find him commanding 



PAUL JONES, AND THE NAVY OF THE REVOLUTION. 163 

the Ariel, one of the two ships that constituted the navy 
of Congress at that time. Jones was now twenty-eight 
years of age. The historian claims for him the honor of 
raising, with his own hands, the flag of independent Ame- 
rica on board the Ariel, in the Delaware River, — the first 
time it was ever displayed on board a regular American 
vessel of war. From the Ariel he was transferred to the 
Ranger, and bore in her to France despatches of the vic- 
tory of Saratoga. While in a French port, he received 
from the French commander the first salute that was ever 
given to the American flag in a foreign port. 

In 1778, he made a descent on the English coast, sur- 
prising a garrison and capturing a fort, destroying shipping, 
and taking a king's ship, called the Drake, in Carrickfergus 
Bay, throwing the coasts of Ireland and Scotland into 
consternation, and causing the British Government great 
expenditure in fortifying their harbors. Y\e now approach 
the most daring exploit of this truly great character. 

In company with a fleet of vessels fitted out in France, 
by the assistance of the French Government, aided by the 
exertions of Benjamin Franklin, we find him at sea, prey- 
ing on the English commerce, and boldly attacking the 
ships of the enemy wherever met. 

September 2, 1776, Paul Jones, in the Bonhomme 
Richard, in company with the Pallas and the Alliance, fell 
in with the returning Baltic fleet of merchantmen, under 
convoy of the king's ships, the Serapis, forty-four guns, 
and the Countess of Scarborough, twenty-two guns. These 
ships at once signalled the merchantmen to keep on their 
course, while they boldly stood out to sea, inviting an action. 
The battle was fought on the eastern coast of England, ofl 
Flamborough Head, at night, the moon occasionally lighting 
the combatants. Paul Jones, in the Bonhomme Richard, 



164 PAUL JONES, AND THE NAVY OF THE REVOLUTION. 

fought the Serapis, while the Pallas engaged the Scar- 
borough. The Alliance frigate, under the command of Cap- 
tain Landais, a Frenchman, — who, from his record, must have 
been either a madman or a traitor to the cause he had 
espoused, — kept aloof during the greater part of the fight, 
only coming in towards its close, to fire broadside after 
broadside in such a direction as to injure the Bonhomme 
Richard as much, if not more, than the enemy, — in fact, 
leaving it doubtful against which vessel he had aimed 
his guns. After a severe fight, the Scarborough struck 
her flag to the Pallas. 

Paul Jones, who had maintained a desperate conflict 
with his antagonist, despairing of conquering him at long 
range, on account of the disabled condition of many of his 
guns, and of the inferior calibre of the remainder, now deter- 
mined to run the Serapis aboard. This bold manoeuvre was 
successfully accomplished, and, lashing his ship to that of 
his foe, he continued the fight, as sailors say, "yard-arm to 
yard-arm/' the gunners on the lower decks of both vessels 
actually fighting through the port-holes to prevent one 
another from ramming home the charges of their guns. 

Some of the lower-deck cannon on board the Richard 
burst in the earlier part of the action, tearing up the 
decks above in a frightful manner. During a momentary 
lull in the firing, occasioned by this accident, the British 
commander hailed, and demanded whether the Richard 
had surrendered, to which Paul Jones replied, " No : we 
have not yet begun to fight." Striding from point to 
point, the hero might then be seen, now on the deck 
slippery with blood, now in the shrouds, trumpet in hand, 
calling away his boarders to hurl them on the deck of the 
enemy, stimulating his crew to renewed efforts by words 
of fiery courage, and leading in the van of every danger. 



PAUL JONES, AND THE NAVY OF THE REVOLUTION. 165 

Let us here imagine the commodore turning suddenly at a 
cry for quarter, uttered by some craven souls who thought 
the vessel was sinking. The flag-staff was shot away, the 
ensign was trailing in the water over the stern ; voices cry 
from out the smoke and darkness, " Quarter, for Grod's sake ! 
We are sinking !" Pistols flash, and a stentorian voice is 
heard shouting, " Who are those rascals ? Shoot them ! kill 
them !" The rush of hurrying feet across the deck, the 
dash of heavy bodies leaping through the hatchways, tell, 
in unmistakable terms, that the speaker there is more to be 
dreaded than the terrors of the sinking ship. 

From all accounts, the conflict at this juncture must have 
been terrible beyond description. While the sides of the 
ship were being literally pounded to pieces by cannon 
actually fired within a few feet of the timbers they were 
crushing, the men, maddened to fury by wounds, flame, 
and smoke, were fighting with hatchets, pikes, and every 
other weapon at hand, including even the rammers of the 
guns; and while this was going on below the decks, the 
rigging and round-tops presented a still more frightful 
picture. The vessels were now both on fire, the flames 
pouring up through the gaps in the deck, licking up the tarry 
ropes and tackle, and throwing around all a lurid light of 
terror. The yard-arms of the contending ships crossed 
each other's decks, entangled and enveloped in smoke, 
crowded with sailors, cutting and hacking at each other, 
more like devils than men, while some exploded hand- 
grenades on the heads of those below. The musketry of 
the marines rattling from the decks and blending with 
the sullen roar of cannon, the sharpshooters in the tops, 
dealing death from above, the shouts of the commanders, 
the cries of the combatants, of pain or of defiance, the 
crackling flames shooting through enshrouding smoke, the 



1G6 TAUL JONES, AND THE NAVY OF THE REVOLUTION. 

decks all ablaze with fire or enveloped in Egyptian dark- 
ness, — these separate horrors all combined to render that 
midnight death-struggle on the ocean more like a picture 
of fiends and furies, conjured up to delight the hellish 
fancies of infernal spectators, realizing the words of Shak- 
speare, " Hell is empty, and all the devils are here." 

And yet such are the scenes from which we draw our 
inspirations of heroism, and in which we see our cherished 
types of valor, daring, and patriotism. 

How truly might these gallant combatants realize that 
fierce pleasure Sir Walter Scott speaks of, — 

"The stern joy that clansmen feel 
In foeinen worthy of their steel" ! 

This terrible and obstinate conflict lasted three and a 
half hours j and when the Englishman surrendered, his 
vessel was found to be anchored, and the flag nailed to the 
mast. Some time, therefore, elapsed before the usual token 
of submission could be made manifest; while our vessel 
was only kept afloat by the almost superhuman efforts of a 
body of prisoners, who had been confined below decks, and 
had been during the latter part of the action set at liberty 
by the officer in charge. Had it not been for this circum- 
stance, the Bonhomme Richard would have sunk alongside 
her enemy before his flag had been struck. 

Thus ended one of the most sanguinary battles ever 
fought on the ocean. The Bonhomme Richard sank the 
next morning, — the officers and crew being first transferred 
on board the English ship, which was almost as badly dis- 
abled as the Richard. She, however, was kept afloat, but 
with great difficulty, and finally made the Texel, to which 
port Paul Jones had been ordered for repairs. 

The Alliance now became the flag-ship of our hero, and 
in her he made another of those voyages which called forth 



PAUL JONES, AND THE NAVY OP THE REVOLUTION. 1G7 

the eulogy of the nation, and during which the enemy's 
gazettes had, as usual, matter enough for comment on the 
movements and doings of the " Bold Buccaneer," as they 
termed him. 

During the next year, we find Commodore Jones in 
America once more, where he received a vote of thanks 
from Congress, and the appointment to the command of an 
American seventy-four; but, the war terminating soon after, 
he did not get into active service again. The King of France 
presented him with a gold-mounted sword, and requested 
Congress to decorate him with the " Order of Merit." This 
was done, the badge, &c. having been sent over for the 
purpose. Congress also presented him with a gold medal, 
in consideration of the zeal, prudence, and intrepidity with 
which he had sustained the honor of the American flag. 
He was now the Chevalier Paul Jones, and, having returned 
to Paris on a mission for the United States, he was honored 
by the Empress of Russia with an appointment as rear- 
admiral of the Russian fleet. He served with distinction, 
and was invested with the order of " St. Anna." -He retired 
for the last time to Paris, and died there, much honored and 
respected. His funeral was marked by public ceremonies 
befitting a hero and a good man, which there is no doubt he 
was. " That Paul Jones was a remarkable man," says Cooper, 
the naval historian, " cannot justly be questioned. In his 
enterprises are to be discovered much of that boldness of 
conception that marks a great naval captain j though his 
most celebrated battle is probably the one in which he 
evinced no other very high quality than that of invincible 
resolution to conquer. The expedient of running the 
Serapis aboard was like him; and it was the only chance 
of victory that was left." 

It will be remembered that the lamented Lawrence in- 



168 THE BONHOMME RICHARD. 

tended to accomplish the same result in the grapple with 
the Shannon. But accident frustrated his plan, and gave 
the enemy an advantage, which resulted in the capture of 
our ship and the death of her commander. 

In all hold and daring departures from custom or orders, 
success throws a halo of glory around the master-spirit 
of innovation, while failure is attended with obloquy and 
oblivion. 

Frost, in his " Naval Memoirs," pays this tribute to the 
memory of the man the nation honored, — " It is but just to 
place him among the first of our naval commanders; for 
his splendid career exhibited a degree of courage and ability 
which has been surpassed by none of those who have suc- 
ceeded him in the brilliant line of our naval heroes." 



When in a French port awaiting the result of Franklin's 
negotiations regarding the fitting out of a naval force for 
the service of the Republic, Paul Jones became weary of 
inactivity, and what he thought procrastination on the 
part of the agents. Therefore he went to Paris, to urge 
the proceeding personally. The result was that complete 
success crowned his efforts. He returned to the seaboard 
and fitted out his vessels without further delay. To the 
one he had selected as his flag-ship he gave the name of The 
Goodman Richard. It will be remembered in Franklin's 
Almanac of Poor Richard there were many terse and wise 
proverbs and sayings, among which was one to the effect 
that what a man wants to accomplish well and speedily he 



PAUL JONES 169 

had better attend to himself, rather than trust to the assist- 
ance of others. So Paul Jones called his ship The Good- 
man Richard, in compliment to the sayings of Benjamin 
Franklin. 

The following old-fashioned nautical song was a favorite 
in my boyhood. I have heard my father sing it with great 
delight. I am not able to give the author's name. What- 
ever may be said of the poetry, the sentiment is truly Ameri- 
can, while the fire of national pride burns in every line. 



iaul gows. 

An American frigate from Baltimore came, 
Her guns mounted forty, the Richard by name ; 
Went to cruise in the Channel of old England, 
With a noble commander, Paul Jones was the man. 
We had not sail'd long before we did espy 
A large forty-four, and a twenty close by : 
These two warlike ships, full laden with store, 
Our captain pursued to the bold Yorkshire shore. 

At the hour of twelve, Pierce came alongside. 

With a loud speaking-trumpet. "Whence came you?" he 

cried ; 
"Quick give me an answer, I hail'd you before, 
Or this very instant a broadside I'll pour." 
Paul Jones he exclaim'd, 'My brave boys, we'll not run: 
Let every brave seaman stand close to his gun;" 
When a broadside was fired by these brave Englishmen, 
And we bold buckskin heroes return'd it again. 

We fought them five glasses, five glasses most hot, 
Till fifty brave seamen lay dead on the spot, 
And full seventy more lay bleeding in their gore, 
Whilst Pierce's loud cannon on the Richard did roar. 



170 PAUL JONES. 

Our gunner, affrighted, unto Paul Jones he came, 
"Our ship is a-sinking, likewise in a flame;" 
Paul Jones he replied, in the height of his pride, 
"If we can do no better, we'll sink alongside." 

At length our shot flew so quick, they could not stand : 

The flag of proud Britain was forced to come down, 

The Lion bore down and the Richard did rake, 

Which caused the heart of Richard to ache. 

Come now, my brave buckskin, we've taken a prize, 

A large forty-four, and a twenty likewise ; 

They are both noble vessels, well laden with store 1 

We will toss off the can to our country once more. 

God help the poor widows, who shortly must weep 
For the loss of their husbands, now sunk in the deep ! 
We'll drink to brave Paul Jones, who, with sword in hand, 
Shone foremost in action, and gave us command. 



OUR HEROES. 171 



(But fom 

BY LUCY HAMILTON HOOPER. 

Gat leaders in the "German's" maze, 

Light danglers by a lady's chair, 
White-gloved, soft-voiced, — your place of old 

Knows you no more. Where are you? — where? 

Our lists of " dancing men" grow thin; 

And, as one turns the page, one sees 
The old familiar names no more : 

They're writ on sadder lists than these 

Dark records of red battle-fields, 

Of crimson sands find gory sod, 
Where, 'mid the rush and roar of war, 

Brave souls and true went up to God. 

We read the lists of those who pine 

In loathsome prisons far away, 
And sigh to greet each well-known name : 

There are our carpet-knights to-day 

And if, in haunts forsaken long, 

We greet once more a well-known face, 

On pallid brow and faded lip 
We mark the fatal fever-trace : 

Or, with full heart and eyes, we note 

The gallant soldier's empty sleeve: 
Yet back, unshed, we press our tears ! 

We are too proud of him to grieve ! 

And, gallant hearts ! undaunted still 

By perill'd life and wearing pain, 
They turn from loving homes away, 

Their scarce-saved lives to stake again. 



172 OUR HEROES. 

Scarce has each fearful wound been heal'd, 
Scarce has the fever ceased to burn, 

When from each wan lip rings the cry, 
"Our country needs us ! we return I 

, ""We go to bear her flag once more 
To victory 'neath the Southern sky. 
We've suffer'd for her cause ; and now 
We're ready for that cause to die 1" 

My country ! though thy flag to-day 
Droops, dimm'd and rent by rebel guns, 

Thou hast no cause to faint or fear ! 
Be proud the while thou hast such sonsl 



TIIE END. 



^ RECEIVED V> 

JUN 8 1895 



m 



I 



Mfviii.'. 



M 



m 



h 



■ 






>m 



m 



m 



rfe- 



:;-ft- K 









■ 









H 



' *V£ I ■ 






■ 



■ 



H 



^1 ■ 



M 



■ 



■ 



■ 






■ 



»i 



v ^*' 




■ 






